mum 


L 


o 


p^  , 

^K^ 


inf 


IN  BLACK  AND  WHITE 


RUDYARD  KIPLING 


New  York 
THE  LOVELL   COMPANY 

21,  DuANE  Street 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Dedication 5 

Introduction 9 

Dray  Wara  Yow  Dee 15 

The  Judgment  of  Dungara 31 

At  Howli  Thana 46 

Gemini  ....     - 55 

At  Twenty-Two 70 

In  Flood  Time 88 

The  Sending  of  Dana  Da 104 

On  the  City  Wall 121 


DEDICATION 


To  MY  MOFT  DEARE  Father, —  When  I 
was  in  your  Houfe  and  we  went  abroade 
together,  in  the  outfkirtes  of  the  Citie, 
among  the  Gentoo  Wreftlours,  you  had 
poynted  me  how  in  all  Empryzes  he  gooing 
forth  flang  backe  alwaies  a  Word  to  hym 
that  had  infruct  hym  in  his  Crafte  to  the 
better  Sneckynge  of  a  Victorie  or  at  the 
leafte  the  auoidance  of  anie  greate  Defeate: 
And  prefentlie  each  man  wolde  run  to  his 
Vftad  (which  is  as  we  shoulde  fay  M after) 
and  geat  fuch  as  he  deferued  of  Admonefh- 
ment,  Reprouf  and  Council,  concernynge 
the  Gripp,  the  Houlde,  Crofs-buttock  and 
Fall,  and  then  lay  to  afrefhe. 

In  lyke  maner  I,  drawynge  back  a  lytel, 
from  this  my  Rabble  and  Encompafment 
of  Labour,  have  runn  afyde  to  you  who 
were  euer  my  Vftad  and  Speake  as  it  were 
in  your  priuie  Eare  [yet  that  others  may 
knowe]  that  if  I  have  here  done  aught  of 
Faire  Crafte  and  Reverentiall  it  is  come 
from  your  hande  as  trewly  [but  by  i.  De- 
gree remouen]  as  though  it  had  been  the 


6  Dedication 

coperture  of  thys  Booke  that  you  haue 
made  for  me  in  lone.  How  may  I  here 
tell  of  that  Tender  Diligence  which  in  my 
wauerynge  and  inconftante  viages  was  in 
all  tymes  about  me  to  showe  the  pafsions 
and  Occafions,  Shifts,  Humours,  and 
Sports  that  in  due  proporcion  combinate 
haue  bred  that  Rare  and  Terrible  Myftery 
the  which,  for  lacke  of  a  more  compleat 
Venderftandinge,  the  Worlde  has  cauled 
Man:  aswel  the  maner  in  which  you 
shoulde  goo  about  to  pourtraie  the  same, 
a  lytel  at  a  tyme  in  Feare  and  Decencie. 
By  what  hand,  when  I  wolde  have  dabbled 
a  Greene  and  unvefed  Pen  in  all  Earthe 
Heauen  and  Hell,  bicaufe  of  the  pitiful 
Confidence  of  Youthe,  was  I  bounde  in 
and  reftrict  to  wayte  tyl  I  coulde  in  fome 
fort  difcerne  from  the  Shadowe,  that  is  not 
by  any  peynes  to  be  toucht,  the  small  Ker- 
nel and  vSubftance  that  mighte  conforme  to 
the  sclendernefs  of  my  Capacitie.  All  thys 
and  other  Council  (that,  though  I  dyd  then 
not  followe,  Tyme  hath  since  fadlie  prouen 
trewe)  is  my  unpayable  Debt  to  you  (moft 
deare  Father)  and  for  marke  I  have  set 
afyde  for  you,  if  you  will  take  it,  thys  my 
thirde  Booke.  The  more  thys  and  no  other 
fenfe  it  is  of  common  knowledge  that  Men 
do  rather  efteem  a  Pebble  gathered  under 
the  Burnynge  Lyne  (or  anie  place  that  they 
haue  gone  farr  to  travel  in)  then  the  Pane- 


Dedication  7 

way  of  theyr  owne  Citic,  though  that  may 
be  the  better  wrought.  Your  Charitie  and 
the  large  Tendernefs  that  I  haue  nowhere 
founde  fenfe  I  liaue  gone  from  your  Houfe 
shall  look  upon  it  fauorably  and  ouerpafs 
the  Blemyfhes,  Spottes,  Foul  Crafte,  and 
Maculations  that  do  as  thoroughly  marke 
it  as  anie  Toil  of  Me.  None  the  lefs  it  is 
fett  prefomptuoufly  before  that  Wilde 
Beafte  the  Publick  which,  though  when 
aparte  and  one  by  one  examined  is  but 
compoft  of  such  meere  Men  and  Women 
as  you  in  theyr  outwarde  form  peynt  and 
I  would  fayne  peynt  in  theyr  inward  work- 
ynges,  yet  in  totalitie,  is  a  Great  and  thank- 
lefse  God  (like  unto  Dagon)  upon  whofe 
Altars  a  man  muft  offer  of  his  Befte  alone 
of  the  Prieftes  (which  they  caul  Reuiewers) 
pack  him  emptie  awai.  If  I  faile  in  thys 
Seruyce  you  shall  take  me  afyde  and  giue 
me  more  Inftruction,  which  is  but  the  olde 
Counfel  unreguarded  and  agayne  made 
playne :  As  our  Vftads  take  hym  whofe 
Nofe  is  rubben  in  the  dyrte  and  speak  in 
hys  Eare.  But  thys  I  knowe,  that  if  I  fail 
or  if  I  geat  my  Wage  from  the  God  afore- 
fayd;  and  thus  dance  perpetually  before 
that  Altar  till  He  be  wearyed,  the  Wildom 
that  made  in  my  Vfe,  when  I  was  neere  to 
liftcn,  and  the  Sweep  and  Swing  temperate 
of  th.e  Pen  that,  when  I  was  afarr,  gaue  me 
alwaics  and  untvrvncf  the  most  delectable 


8  Dedication 

Tillage  of  that  Wifdom  shall  neuer  be  lack- 
ynge  to  me  in  Lyfe. 

And  though  I  am  more  rich  herein  than 
the  richeft,  my  prefent  Pouertie  can  but 
make  return  in  thys  lytel  Booke  which 
your  owne  Toil  has  nobilitated  beyon  the 
deferuynge  of  the  Writer  your  Son. 


INTRODUCTION 


BY  KADIR  BAKSH,  KHITMATGAR. 

Hazur, —  Through  your  favor  this  is  a 
book  written  by  my  sahib.  I  know  that 
he  wrote  it,  because  it  was  his  custom  to 
write  far  into  the  night;  I  greatly  desiring 
to  go  to  my  house.  But  there  was  no 
order;  therefore  it  was  my  fate  to  sit  with- 
out the  door  until  the  work  was  accom- 
plished. Then  came  I  and  made  shut  all 
the  papers  in  the  office-box,  and  these 
papers,  by  the  peculiar  operation  of  Time 
and  owing  to  the  skillful  manner  in  which 
I  picked  them  up  from  the  floor,  became 
such  a  book  as  you  now  see.  God  alone 
knows  what  is  written  therein,  for  I  am 
a  poor  man  and  the  sahib  is  my  father  and 
my  mother,  and  I  have  no  concern  with 
his  writings  until  he  has  left  his  table  and 
gone  to  bed. 

Nabi  Baksh,  clerk,  says  that  it  is  a  book 
about  the  black  men  —  common  people. 
This  is  a  manifest  lie,  for  by  what  road  can 
my  sahib  have  acquired  knowledge  of  the 


I  o  Introduction 

common  people?  Have  I  not,  for  several 
years,  been  perpetually  with  the  sahib;  and 
throughout  that  time  have  I  not  stood  be- 
tween him  and  the  other  servants  who 
would  persecute  him  with  complaints  or 
vex  him  with  idle  tales  about  my  work? 
Did  I  not  smite  Dunnoo,  the  groom,  only 
yesterday  in  the  matter  of  the  badness  of 
the  harness-composition  which  I  had  pro- 
cured? I  am  the  head  of  the  sahib's  house- 
hold and  hold  his  purse.  Without  me  he 
does  not  know  where  are  his  rupees  or  his 
clean  collars.  So  great  is  my  power  over 
the  sahib  and  the  love  that  he  bears  to  me ! 
Have  I  ever  told  the  sahib  about  the  cus- 
toms of  servants  or  black  men?  Am  I  a 
fool?  I  have  said  ''  very  good  talk  "  upon 
all  occasions.  I  have  always  cut  smooth 
his  wristbands  with  scissors,  and  timely 
warned  him  of  the  passing  away  of  his 
tobacco  that  he  might  not  be  left  smoke- 
less upon  a  Sunday.  More  than  this  I  have 
not  done.  The  sahib  can  not  go  out  to 
dinner  lacking  my  aid.  How  then  should 
he  know  aught  that  I  did  not  tell  him? 
Certainly  Nabi  Baksh  is  a  liar. 

None  the  less  this  is  a  book,  and  the 
sahib  wrote  it,  for  his  name  is  in  it,  and  it 
is  not  his  washing-book.  Now,  such  is  the 
wisdom  of  the  sahib-log,  that,  upon  open- 
ing this  thing,  they  will  instantly  discover 
the  purport.     Yet  I  would  of  their  favor 


Introduction  1 1 

beg  them  to  observe  how  correct  is  the 
order  of  the  pages,  which  I  have  counted, 
from  the  first  to  the  last.  Thus,  One  is 
followed  by  Two  and  Two  by  Three,  and 
so  forward  to  the  end  of  the  book.  Even 
as  I  picked  the  pages  one  by  one  with 
great  trouble  from  the  floor,  when  the 
sahib  had  gone  to  bed,  so  have  they  been 
placed;  and  there  is  not  a  fault  in  the  whole 
account.  And  this  is  my  work.  It  was  a 
great  burden,  but  I  accomplished  it;  and 
if  the  sahib  gains  honor  by  that  which  he 
has  written  —  and  God  knows  what  he  is 
always  writing  about  —  I,  Kadir  Baksh,  his 
servant,  also  have  a  claim  to  honor. 


DRAY  WARA  YOW  DEE 


For  jealousy  is  the  rage  of  a  man;  therefore  he 
will  not  spare  it  the  day  of  vengeance. 

— Prov.  vii.  34. 

Almonds  and  raisins,  sahib?  Grapes 
from  Cabul?  Or  a  pony  of  the  rarest  if 
the  sahib  will  only  come  with  me.  He  is 
thirteen  three,  sahib,  plays  polo,  goes  in 
a  cart,  carries  a  lady  and  —  Holy  Kurshed 
and  the  Blessed  Imams,  it  is  the  sahib  him- 
self! My  heart  is  made  fat  and  my  eye 
glad.  May  you  never  be  tired !  As  is  cold 
water  in  the  Tirah,  so  is  the  sight  of  a 
friend  in  a  far  place.  And  what  do  you  in 
this  accursed  land?  South  of  Delhi,  sahib, 
you  know  the  saying  — '*  Rats  are  the  men 
and  trulls  the  women."  It  was  an  order? 
Ahoo!  An  order  is  an  order  till  one  is 
strong  enough  to  disobey.  Oh,  my 
brother,  oh,  my  friend,  we  have  met  in  an 
auspicious  hour!  Is  all  well  in  the  heart 
and  the  body  and  the  house?  In  a  lucky 
day  have  we  two  come  together  again. 

I  am  to  go  with   you?     Your  favor  is 
great.     Will  there  be  picket-room  in  the 

15 


1 6         In  Black  and  White 

compound?  I  have  three  horses  and  the 
bundles  and  the  horse-boy.  Moreover,  re- 
member that  the  pohce  here  hold  me  a 
horse-thief.  What  do  these  Lowland  bas- 
tards know  of  horse-thieves?  Do  you  re- 
member that  time  in  Peshawur  when 
Kamal  hammered  on  the  gates  of  Jumrud 
—  mountebank  that  he  was  —  and  lifted 
the  colonel's  horses  all  in  one  night? 
Kamal  is  dead  now,  but  his  nephew  has 
taken  up  the  matter,  and  there  will  be  more 
horses  a-missing  if  the  Khaiber  Levies  do 
not  look  to  it. 

The  peace  of  God  and  the  favor  of  his 
Prophet  be  upon  this  house  and  all  that  is 
in  it!  Shafiz-uUah,  rope  the  mottled  mare 
under  the  tree  and  draw  water.  The 
horses  can  stand  in  the  sun,  but  double  the 
felts  over  the  loins.  Nay,  my  friend,  do 
not  trouble  to  look  them  over.  They  are 
to  sell  to  the  ofificer  fools  who  know  so 
many  things  of  the  horse.  The  mare  is 
heavy  in  foal;  the  gray  is  a  devil  unlicked; 
and  the  dun  —  but  you  know  the  trick  of 
the  peg.  When  they  are  sold  I  go  back 
to  Pubbi,  or,  it  may  be,  the  Valley  of 
Peshawur. 

Oh,  friend  of  my  heart,  it  is  good  to  see 
you  again.  I  have  been  bowing  and  lying 
all  day  to  the  ofiBcer-sahibs  in  respect  to 
those  horses;  and  my  mouth  is  dry  for 
straight    talk.     Auggrh!     Before    a    meal 


Dray  Wara  Yow  Dee        17 

tobacco  is  good.  Do  not  join  me,  for  we 
are  not  in  our  own  country.  Sit  in  the 
veranda  and  I  will  spread  my  cloth  here. 
But  first  I  will  drink.  In  the  name  of  God 
returning  thanks,  thrice!  This  is  sweet 
water,  indeed  —  sweet  as  the  water  of 
Sheoran  when  it  comes  from  the  snows. 

They  are  all  well  and  pleased  in  the 
North  —  Khoda  Baksh  and  the  others. 
Yar  Kham  has  come  down  with  the  horses 
from  Kurdistan — six-and-thirty  head  only, 
and  a  full  half  pack-ponies  —  and  has  said 
openly  in  the  Kashmir  Serai  that  you  Eng- 
lish should  send  guns  and  blow  the  Amir 
into  hell.  There  are  fifteen  tolls  now  on 
the  Kabul  road;  and  at  Dakka,  when  he 
thought  he  was  clear,  Yar  Khan  was 
stripped  of  all  his  Balkh  stallions  by  the 
governor!  This  is  a  great  injustice,  and 
Yar  Khan  is  hot  with  rage.  And  of  the 
others :  Mahbub  Ali  is  still  at  Pubbi,  writ- 
ing God  knows  what.  Tuglup  Khan  is  in 
jail  for  the  business  of  the  Kohat  Police 
Post.  Faiz  Beg  came  down  from  Ismail- 
ki-Dhera  with  a  Bokhariot  belt  for  thee, 
my  brother,  at  the  closing  of  the  year,  but 
none  knew  whither  thou  hadst  gone;  there 
was  no  news  left  behind.  The  cousins  have 
taken  a  new  run  near  Pakpattan  to  breed 
mules  for  the  government  carts,  and  there 
is  a  story  in  Bazar  of  a  priest.  Oho!  Such 
a  salt  tale!     Listen.     .     .     . 


1 8  In  Black  and  White 

Sahib,  why  do  you  ask  that?  My  clothes 
are  fouled  because  of  the  dust  on  the  road. 
My  eyes  are  sad  because  of  the  glare  of  the 
sun.  My  feet  are  swollen  because  I  have 
washed  them  in  bitter  water,  and  my 
cheeks  are  hollow  because  the  food  here  is 
bad.  Fire  burn  your  money!  What  do  I 
want  with  it?  I  am  rich  and  I  thought 
you  were  my  friend;  but  you  are  like  the 
others  —  a  sahib.  Is  a  man  sad?  Give 
him  money,  say  the  sahibs.  Is  he  dishon- 
ored? Give  him  money,  say  the  sahibs. 
Hath  he  a  wrong  upon  his  head?  Give 
him  money,  say  the  sahibs.  Such  are  the 
sahibs,  and  such  art  thou  —  even  thou. 

Nay,  do  not  look  at  the  feet  of  the  dun. 
Pity  it  is  that  I  ever  taught  you  to  know 
the  legs  of  a  horse.  Foot-sore?  Be  it  so. 
What  of  that?  The  roads  are  hard.  And 
the  mare  foot-sore?  She  bears  a  double 
burden,  sahib. 

And  now  I  pray  you,  give  me  permission 
to  depart.  Great  favor  and  honor  has  the 
sahib  done  me,  and  graciously  has  he 
shown  his  belief  that  the  horses  are  stolen. 
Will  it  please  him  to  send  me  to  the  Thana? 
To  call  a  sweeper  and  have  me  led  aw^ay  by 
one  of  these  lizard-men?  I  am  the  sahib's 
friend.  I  have  drunk  water  in  the  shadow 
of  his  house,  and  he  has  blackened  my  face. 
Remains  there  anything  more  to  do? 
Will  the  sahib  give  me  eight  annas  to  make 


Dray  Wara  Yow  Dee        19 

smooth  the  injury  —  and  complete  the 
insult?     .     .     . 

Forgive  me,  my  brother.  I  knew  not  — 
I  know  not  now  —  what  I  say.  Yes,  I  lied 
to  you !  I  will  put  dust  on  my  head  —  and 
I  am  an  Afridi!  The  horses  have  been 
marched  foot-sore  from  the  valley  to  this 
place,  and  my  eyes  are  dim,  my  body  aches 
for  the  want  of  sleep,  and  my  heart  is  dried 
up  with  sorrow  and  shame.  But,  as  it  was 
my  shame  so  by  God  the  Dispenser  of  Jus- 
tice—  by  Allah-al-Mumit,  it  shall  be  my 
own  revenge! 

We  have  spoken  together  with  naked 
hearts  before  this,  and  our  hands  have 
dipped  into  the  same  dish  and  thou  hast 
been  to  me  as  a  brother.  Therefore  I  pay 
thee  back  with  lies  and  ingratitude  —  as  a 
Pathan.  Listen  now!  When  the  grief  of 
the  soul  is  too  heavy  for  endurance  it  may 
be  a  little  eased  by  speech;  and,  moreover, 
the  mind  of  a  true  man  is  as  a  well,  and 
the  pebble  of  confession  dropped  therein 
sinks  and  is  no  more  seen.  From  the  val- 
ley have  I  come  on  foot,  league  by  league 
with  a  fire  in  my  chest  like  the  fire  of  the 
Pit.  And  why?  Hast  thou,  then,  so 
quickly  forgotten  our  customs,  among  this 
folk  who  sell  their  wives  and  their  daugh- 
ters for  silver?  Come  back  with  me  to 
the  North  and  be  among  men  once  more. 
Come,  back,   when  this   matter  is   accom- 


20         In  Black  and  White 

plished  and  I  call  for  thee!  The  bloom  of 
the  peach-orchards  is  upon  all  the  valley, 
and  here  is  only  dust  and  a  great  stink. 
There  is  a  pleasant  wind  among  the  mul- 
berry-trees, and  the  streams  are  bright 
with  snow-water,  and  the  caravans  go  up 
and  the  caravans  go  down,  and  a  hundred 
fires  sparkle  in  the  gut  of  the  pass,  and 
tent-peg  answers  hammer-nose,  and  pack- 
horse  squeals  to  pack-horse  across  the  drift 
smoke  of  the  evening.  It  is  good  in  the 
North  now.  Come  back  with  me.  Let  us 
return  to  our  own  people!     Come! 


Whence  is  my  sorrow?  Does  a  man  tear 
out  his  heart  and  make  fritters  thereof  over 
a  slow  fire  for  aught  other  than  a  woman? 
Do  not  laugh,  friend  of  mine,  for  your  time 
will  also  be.  A  woman  of  the  Abazai  was 
she,  and  I  took  her  to  wife  to  stanch  the 
feud  between  our  village  and  the  men  o£ 
Ghor.  I  am  no  longer  young.  The  lime 
has  touched  my  beard.  True.  I  had  no 
need  of  the  wedding?  Nay,  but  I  loved 
her.  What  saith  Rahman  — "  Into  whose 
heart  Love  enters,  there  is  Folly  and  naught 
else.  By  a  glance  of  the  eye  she  hath 
blinded  thee;  and  by  the  eyelids  and  the 
fringe  of  the  eyelids  taken  thee  into  the 
captivity  without  ransom,  and  naught  else." 
Dost    thou    remember    that    song    at    the 


Dray  Wara  Yow  Dee        2i 

sheep-roasting  in  the  Pindi  camp  among 
the  Uzbegs  of  the  Amir? 

The  Abazai  are  dogs  and  their  women 
the  servants  of  sin.  There  was  a  lover  of 
her  own  people,  but  of  that  her  father  told 
me  naught.  My  friend,  curse  for  me  in 
your  prayers,  as  I  curse  at  each  praying 
from  the  Fakr  to  the  Isha,  the  name  of 
Daoud  Shah,  Abazai,  whose  head  is  still 
upon  his  neck,  whose  hands  are  still  upon 
his  wrists,  who  has  done  me  dishonor,  who 
has  made  my  name  a  laughing-stock 
among  the  women  of  Little  Malikand. 

I  went  into  Hindoostan  at  the  end  of 
two  months  —  to  Cherat.  I  was  gone 
twelve  days  only;  but  I  had  said  that  I 
would  be  fifteen  days  absent.  This  I  did 
to  try  her,  for  it  is  written:  **  Trust  not 
the  incapable."  Coming  up  the  gorge 
alone  in  the  falling  of  the  light,  I  heard  the 
voice  of  a  man  singing  at  the  door  of  my 
house;  and  it  was  the  voice  of  Daoud  Shah, 
and  the  song  that  he  sung  was  *'  Dray  wara 
yow  dee  " —  all  three  are  one.  It  was  as 
though  a  heel-rope  had  been  slipped 
round  my  heart  and  all  the  devils  were 
drawing  it  tight  past  endurance.  I  crept 
silently  up  the  hill-road,  but  the  fuse  of 
my  match-lock  was  wetted  with  the  rain, 
and  I  could  not  slay  Daoud  Shah  from 
afar.  Moreover,  it  was  in  my  mind  to  kill 
the   woman   also.     Thus   he   sung,   sitting 


22         In  Black  and  White 

outside  my  house,  and,  anon,  the  woman 
opened  the  door,  and  I  came  nearer,  crawl- 
ing on  my  belly  among  the  rocks.  I  had 
only  my  knife  to  my  hand.  But  a  stone 
slipped  under  my  foot,  and  the  two  looked 
down  the  hill-side,  and  he,  leaving  his 
match-lock,  fled  from  my  anger,  because 
he  was  afraid  for  the  life  that  was  in  him. 
But  the  woman  moved  not  till  I  stood  in 
front  of  her,  crying:  "  Oh,  woman,  what 
is  this  that  thou  hast  done?"  And  she, 
void  of  fear,  though  she  knew  my  thought, 
laughed,  saying:  "  It  is  a  little  thing.  I 
loved  him,  and  thou  art  a  dog  and  cattle- 
thief  coming  by  night.  Strike!  "  And  I, 
being  still  blinded  by  her  beauty,  for,  oh, 
my  friend,  the  women  of  the  Abazai  are 
very  fair,  said:  "Hast  thou  no  fear?" 
And  she  answered:  "None  —  but  only 
the  fear  that  I  do  not  die."  Then  said  I: 
"  Have  no  fear."  And  she  bowed  her 
head,  and  I  smote  it  ofT  at  the  neck-bone 
so  that  it  leaped  between  my  feet.  There- 
after the  rage  of  our  people  came  upon  me, 
and  I  hacked  ofif  the  breasts,  that  the  men 
of  Little  Malikand  might  know  the  crime, 
and  cast  the  body  into  the  water-course 
that  flows  to  the  Kabul  River.  "  Dray 
wara  yow  dee !  Dray  wara  yow  dee !  " 
The  body  without  the  head,  the  soul  with- 
out light,  and  my  own  darkling  heart  — 
all  three  are  one  —  all  three  are  one ! 


Dray  Wara  Yow  Dee        23 

That  night,  making  no  hah,  I  went  to 
Ghor  and  demanded  news  of  Daoud  Shah. 
Men  said:  "  He  is  gone  to  Pubbi  for 
horses.  What  wouldst  thou  of  him? 
There  is  peace  between  the  villages."  I 
made  answer:  '*  Ay!  The  peace  of  treach- 
ery and  the  love  that  the  Devil  Atala  bore 
to  Gurel."  And  I  fired  thrice  into  the  gate 
and  laughed  and  went  my  way. 

In  those  hours,  brother  and  friend  of 
my  heart's  heart,  the  moon  and  the  stars 
were  as  blood  above  me,  and  in  my  mouth 
was  the  taste  of  dry  earth.  Also,  I  broke 
no  bread,  and  my  drink  was  the  rain  of  the 
Valley  of  Ghor  upon  my  face. 

At  Pubbi  I  found  Mahbub  Ali,the  writer, 
sitting  upon  his  charpoy  and  gave  up  my 
arms  according  to  your  law.  But  I  was 
not  grieved,  for  it  was  in  my  heart  that  I 
should  kill  Daoud  Shah  with  my  bare 
hands  thus  —  as  a  man  strips  a  bunch  of 
raisins.  Mahbub  Ali  said:  "  Daoud  Shah 
has  even  now  gone  hot-foot  to  Peshawur, 
and  he  will  pick  up  his  horses  upon  the 
road  to  Delhi,  for  it  is  said  that  the  Bom- 
bay Tramway  Company  are  buying  horses 
there  by  the  truck-load;  eight  horses  to  the 
truck."     And  that  was  a  true  saying. 

Then  I  saw  that  the  hunting  would  be 
no  little  thing,  for  the  man  was  gone  into 
your  borders  to  save  himself  against  my 
wrath.     And  shall  he  save  himself  so?   Am 


24         In  Black  and  White 

I  not  alive?  Though  he  run  northward  to 
the  Dora  and  the  snow,  or  southerly  to  the 
Black  Water,  I  will  follow  him,  as  a  lover 
follows  the  footsteps  of  his  mistress,  and 
coming  upon  him  I  will  take  him  tenderly 
—  Aho!  so  tenderly!  —  in  my  arms,  say- 
ing: "  Well  hast  thou  done  and  well  shalt 
thou  be  repaid."  And  out  of  that  embrace 
Daoud  Shah  shall  not  go  forth  with  the 
breath  in  his  nostrils.  Aiiggrh!  Where  is 
the  pitcher?  I  am  as  thirsty  as  a  mother- 
mare  in  the  first  month. 

Your  law!  What  is  your  law  to  me? 
When  the  horses  fight  on  the  runs  do  they 
regard  the  boundary  pillars;  or  do  the  kites 
of  Ali  Musjid  forbear  because  the  carrion 
lies  under  the  shadow  of  the  Ghor  Kuttri? 
The  matter  began  across  the  border.  It 
shall  finish  where  God  pleases.  Here,  in 
my  own  country,  or  in  hell.  All  three  are 
one. 

Listen  now,  sharer  of  the  sorrow  of  my 
heart,  and  I  will  tell  of  the  hunting.  I  fol- 
lowed to  Peshawur  from  Pubbi,  and  I  went 
to  and  fro  about  the  streets  of  Peshawur 
like  a  houseless  dog,  seeking  for  my  enemy. 
Once  I  thought  that  I  saw  him  washing 
his  mouth  in  the  conduit  in  the  big  square, 
but  when  I  came  up  he  was  gone.  It  may 
be  that  it  was  he,  and,  seeing  my  face,  he 
had  fled. 

A  girl  of  the  bazaar  said  that  he  would 


Dray  Wara  Yow  Dee        25 

go  to  Nowshera.  I  said:  "Oh,  heart's 
heart,  does  Daoud  Shah  visit  thee?  "  and 
,-he  said:  "  Even  so."  I  said:  "  I  would 
fain  see  him,  for  we  be  friends  parted  for 
two  years.  Hide  me,  I  pray,  here  in  the 
shadow  of  the  window  shutter,  and  I  will 
wait  for  his  coming."  And  the  girl  said: 
"  Oh,  Pathan,  look  into  my  eyes!  "  And  I 
turned,  leaning  upon  her  breast,  and  looked 
into  her  eyes,  swearing  that  I  spoke  the 
very  Truth  of  God.  But  she  answered: 
"  Never  friend  waited  friend  with  such 
eyes.  Lie  to  God  and  the  Prophet,  but  to 
a  woman  ye  can  not  lie.  Get  hence! 
There  shall  no  harm  befall  Daoud  Shah  by 
cause  of  me." 

I  would  have  strangled  that  girl  but  for 
the  fear  of  your  police;  and  thus  the  hunt- 
ing would  have  come  to  naught.  There- 
fore I  only  laughed  and  departed,  and  she 
leaned  over  the  window-bar  in  the  night 
and  mocked  me  down  the  street.  Her 
name  is  Jamun.  When  I  have  made  my 
account  with  the  man  I  will  return  to 
Peshawur  and  —  her  lovers  shall  desire  her 
no  more  for  her  beauty's  sake.  She  shall 
not  be  Jamun,  but  Ak,  the  cripple  among 
trees.     Ho!  Ho!     Ak  shall  she  be! 

At  Peshawur  I  bought  the  horses  and 
grapes,  and  the  almonds  and  dried  fruits, 
that  the  reason  of  my  wanderings  might  be 
open  to  the  government,   and  that  there 


26  In  Black  and  White 

might  be  no  hiiiderance  upon  the  road. 
But  when  I  came  to  Nowshera  he  was 
gone,  and  I  knew  not  where  to  go.  I 
stayed  one  day  at  Nowshera,  and  in  the 
night  a  voice  spoke  in  my  ear  as  I  slept 
among  the  horses.  All  night  it  flew  round 
my  head  and  would  not  cease  from  whis- 
pering. I  was  upon  my  belly,  sleeping  as 
the  devils  sleep,  and  it  may  have  been  that 
the  voice  was  the  voice  of  a  devil.  It  said: 
"  Go  south,  and  thou  shalt  come  upon 
Daoud  Shah."  Listen,  my  brother  and 
chief  est  among  friends  —  listen!  Is  the 
tale  a  long  one?  Think  how  it  was  long 
to  me.  I  have  trodden  every  league  of  the 
road  from  Pubbi  to  this  place;  and  from 
Nowshera  my  guide  was  only  the  voice  and 
the  lust  of  vengeance. 

To  the  Uttock  I  went,  but  that  was  no 
hinderance  to  me.  Ho!  Ho!  A  man 
may  turn  the  word  twice,  even  in  his 
trouble.  The  Uttock  was  no  uttock  (obsta- 
cle) to  me;  and  I  heard  the  voice  above  the 
noise  of  the  waters  beating  on  the  big  rock, 
saying:  "  Go  to  the  right."  So  I  went  to 
Pindigheb,  and  in  those  days  my  sleep  was 
taken  from  me  utterly,  and  the  head  of  the 
woman  of  the  Abazai  was  before  me  night 
and  day,  even  as  it  had  fallen  between  my 
feet.  "  Dray  wara  yow  dee !  Dray  wara 
yow  dee!"  Fire,  ashes,  and  my  couch, 
all  three  are  one  —  all  three  are  one! 


Dray  Wara  Yow  Dee        27 

Now  I  was  far  from  the  winter  path  of 
the  dealers  who  had  gone  to  Sialkot  and 
so  south  by  the  rail  and  the  Big  Road  to 
the  line  of  cantonments;  but  there  was  a 
sahib  in  camp  at  Pindigheb  who  bought 
from  me  a  white  mare  at  a  good  price,  and 
told  me  that  one  Daoud  Shah  had  passed 
to  Shahpur  with  horses.     Then  I  saw  that 
the   warning   of  the   voice   was   true,   and 
made  swift  to  come  to  the  Salt  Hills.     The 
Jhelum  was  in  flood,  but  I  could  not  wait, 
and,   in  the   crossing,   a  bay   stallion   was 
washed  down  and  drowned.     Herein  was 
God  hard  to  me  —  not  in  respect  of  the 
beast,  of  that  I  had  no  care  —  but  in  this 
snatching.     While   I   was   upon   the   right 
bank   urging   the   horses    into   the    water, 
Daoud    Shah    was    upon    the    left;    for  — 
Alghias!  Alghias!  —  the  hoofs  of  my  mare 
scattered  the  hot  ashes  of  his  fires  when 
we  came  up  the  hither  bank  in  the  light  of 
morning.     But  he  had  fled.     His  feet  were 
made  swift  by  the  terror  of  death.     And  I 
went  south  from  Shahpur  as  the  kite  flies. 
I  dared  not  turn  aside,  lest  I  should  miss 
my  vengeance  —  which  is  my  right.    From 
Shahpur   I   skirted   by   the   Jhelum,   for   I 
thought  that  he  would  avoid  the  Desert  of 
the  Rechna.     But,  presently,  at  Sahiwal,  I 
turned    away    upon    the    road    to    Jhang, 
Samundri,  and  Gugera,  till,  upon  a  night, 
the  mottled  mare  breasted  the  fence  of  the 


28         In  Black  and  White 

rail  that  runs  to  Montgomery.  And  that 
place  was  Okara,  and  the  head  of  the 
woman  of  the  Abazai  lay  upon  the  sand 
between  my  feet. 

Thence  I  went  to  Fazilka,  and  they  said 
that  I  was  mad  to  bring  starved  horses 
there.  The  Voice  was  with  me,  and  I  was 
not  mad,  but  only  wearied,  because  I  could 
not  find  Daoud  Shah.  It  was  written  that 
I  should  not  find  him  at  Rania  nor  Baha- 
durgah,  and  I  came  into  Delhi  from  the 
west,  and  there  also  I  found  him  not.  My 
friend,  I  have  seen  many  strange  things  in 
my  wanderings.  I  have  seen  devils  rioting 
across  the  Rechna  as  the  stallions  riot  in 
spring.  I  have  heard  the  Djinns  calling 
to  each  other  from  holes  in  the  sand,  and 
I  have  seen  them  pass  before  my  face. 
There  are  no  devils,  say  the  sahibs?  They 
are  very  wise,  but  they  do  not  know  all 
things  about  devils  or  —  horses.  Ho !  Ho ! 
I  say  to  you  who  are  laughing  at  my  mis- 
ery, that  I  have  seen  the  devils  at  high  noon 
whooping  and  leaping  on  the  shoals  of  the 
Chenab.  And  was  I  afraid?  My  brother, 
when  the  desire  of  a  man  is  set  upon  one 
thing  alone,  he  fears  neither  God  nor  man 
nor  devil.  If  my  vengeance  failed,  I  would 
splinter  the  gates  of  paradise  with  the  butt 
of  my  gun,  or  I  would  cut  my  way  into 
hell  with  my  knife,  and  I  would  call  upon 
those  who  govern  there  for  the  body  of 


Dray  Wara  Yow  Dee        29 

Daoud  Shah.     What  love  so  deep  as  hate? 

Do  not  speak.  I  know  the  thought  in 
your  heart.  Is  the  white  of  this  eye 
clouded?  How  does  the  blood  beat  at  the 
wrist?  There  is  no  madness  in  my  flesh, 
but  only  the  vehemence  of  the  desire  that 
has  eaten  me  up.     Listen! 

South  of  Delhi  I  knew  not  the  country 
at  all.  Therefore  I  can  not  say  where  I 
went,  but  I  passed  through  many  cities.  I 
knew  only  that  it  was  laid  upon  me  to  go 
south.  When  the  horses  could  march  no 
more,  I  threw  myself  upon  the  earth,  and 
waited  till  the  day.  There  was  no  sleep 
with  me  in  that  journeying;  and  that  was 
a  heavy  burden.  Dost  thou  know,  brother 
of  mine,  the  evil  of  wakefulness  that  can 
not  break  —  when  the  bones  are  sore  for 
lack  of  sleep,  and  the  skin  of  the  temples 
twitches  v/ith  weariness,  and  yet  —  there  is 
no  sleep  —  there  is  no  sleep?  "  Dray  wara 
yow  dee!  Dray  wara  yow  dee!  "  The  eye 
of  the  sun,  the  eye  of  the  moon,  and  my 
own  unrestful  eyes  —  all  three  are  one  — 
all  three  are  one! 

There  was  a  city  the  name  whereof  I 
have  forgotten,  and  there  the  Voice  called 
all  night.  That  was  ten  days  ago.  It  has 
cheated  me  afresh. 

I  have  come  hither  from  a  place  called 
Hamirpur,  and,  behold,  it  is  my  fate  that  I 
should  meet  with  thee  to  my  comfort,  and 


30 


In  Black  and  White 


the  increase  of  friendship.  This  is  a  good 
omen.  By  the  joy  of  looking  upon  thy 
face  the  weariness  has  gone  from  my  feet, 
and  the  sorrow  of  my  so  long  travel  is  for- 
gotten. Also  my  heart  is  peaceful;  for  I 
know  that  the  end  is  near. 

It  may  be  that  I  shall  find  Daoud  Shah 
in  this  city  going  northward,  since  a  Hill- 
man  will  ever  head  back  to  his  hills  when 
the  spring  warns.  And  shall  he  see  those 
hills  of  our  country?  Surely  I  shall  over- 
take him!  Surely  my  vengeance  is  safe! 
Surely  God  hath  him  in  the  hollow  of  His 
hand  against  my  claiming.  There  shall  no 
harm  befall  Daoud  Shah  till  I  come;  for  I 
would  fain  kill  him  quick  and  whole  with 
the  life  sticking  firm  in  his  body.  A  pome- 
granate is  sweetest  when  the  cloves  break 
away  unwilling  from  the  rind.  Let  it  be 
in  the  day-time,  that  I  may  see  his  face, 
and  my  delight  may  be  crowned. 

And  when  I  have  accomplished  the  mat- 
ter and  my  honor  is  made  clean,  I  shall  re- 
turn thanks  unto  God,  the  holder  of  the 
scale  of  the  law,  and  I  shall  sleep.  From 
the  night,  through  the  day,  and  into  the 
night  again  I  shall  sleep;  and  no  dream 
shall  trouble  me. 

And  now,  oh,  my  brother,  the  tale  is  all 
told.     Ahi!    AM!    Alghias!    Ahi! 


THE  JUDGMENT  OF  DUN- 
GARA 


See  the  pale  martyr  with  his  shirt  on  fire.-^ 
Printer's  Error. 

They  tell  the  tale  even  now  among  the 
sal  groves  of  the  Berbulda  Hill,  and  for  cor- 
roboration point  to  the  roofless  and  win- 
dowless  mission-house.  The  great  God 
Dungara,  the  God  of  Things  as  They  Are, 
most  terrible,  one-eyed,  bearing  the  red  ele- 
phant tusk,  did  it  all;  and  he  who  refuses 
to  believe  in  Dungara  will  assuredly  be 
smitten  by  the  madness  of  Yat  —  the  mad- 
ness that  fell  upon  the  sons  and  the  daugh- 
ters of  the  Buria  Kol  when  they  turned 
aside  from  Dungara  and  put  on  clothes. 
So  says  Athon  Daze,  who  is  High  Priest 
of  the  Shrine  and  Warden  of  the  Red  Ele- 
phant tusk.  But  if  you  ask  the  assistant 
collector  and  agent  in  charge  of  the  Buria 
Kol,  he  will  laugh  —  not  because  he  bears 
any  malice  against  missions,  but  because 
he  himself  saw  the  vengeance  of  Dungara 
executed  upon  the  spiritual  children  of  the 

31 


32  In  Black  and  White 

Rev.  Justus  Krenk,  pastor  of  the  Turbingen 
Mission,  and  upon  Lotta,  his  virtuous  wife. 

Yet  if  ever  a  man  merited  good  treat- 
ment of  the  gods  it  was  the  Reverend  Jus- 
tus, one  time  of  Heidelberg,  who,  on  the 
faith  of  a  call,  went  into  the  wilderness  and 
took  the  blonde,  blue-eyed  Lotta  with  him. 
*'  We  will  these  heathen  now  by  idolatrous 
practices  so  darkened  better  make,"  said 
Justus  in  the  early  days  of  his  career. 
"  Yes,"  he  added,  with  conviction,  ''  they 
shall  be  good  and  shall  with  their  hands 
to  work  learn.  For  all  good  Christians 
must  work."  And  upon  a  stipend  more 
modest  even  than  that  of  an  English  lay- 
reader,  Justus  Krenk  kept  house  beyond 
Kamala  and  the  gorge  of  Malair,  beyond 
the  Berbulda  River  close  to  the  foot  of  the 
blue  hill  of  Panth,  on  whose  summit  stands 
the  Temple  of  Dungara — in  the  heart  of 
the  country  of  the  Buria  Kol  —  the  naked, 
good-tempered,  timid,  shameless,  lazy 
Buria  Kol. 

Do  you  know  what  life  at  a  mission  out- 
post means?  Try  to  imagine  a  loneliness 
exceeding  that  of  the  smallest  station  to 
which  government  has  ever  sent  you  —  iso- 
lation that  weighs  upon  the  waking  eyelids 
and  drives  you  perforce  headlong  into  the 
labors  of  the  day.  There  is  no  post,  there 
is  no  one  of  your  own  color  to  speak  to, 
there  are  no  roads:  there  is,  indeed,  food 


The  Judgment  of  Dungara    33 

to  keep  you  alive,  but  it  is  not  pleasant  to 
eat;  and  whatever  of  good  or  beauty  or 
interest  there  is  in  your  life,  must  come 
from  yourself  and  the  grace  that  may  be 
planted  in  you. 

In  the  morning,  with  a  patter  of  soft  feet, 
the  converts,  the  doubtful,  and  the  open 
scofifers,  troop  up  to  the  veranda.  You 
must  be  infinitely  kind  and  patient,  and, 
above  all,  clear-sighted,  for  you  deal  with 
the  simplicity  of  childhood,  the  experience 
of  man,  and  the  subtlety  of  the  savage. 
Your  congregation  have  a  hundred  ma- 
terial wants  to  be  considered;  and  it  is  for 
you,  as  you  believe  in  your  personal  re- 
sponsibility to  your  Maker,  to  pick  out  of 
the  clamoring  crowd  any  grain  of  spiritu- 
ality that  may  lie  therein.  If  to  the  cure 
of  souls  you  add  that  of  bodies,  your  task 
will  be  all  the  more  difficult,  for  the  sick 
and  the  maimed  will  profess  any  and 
every  creed  for  the  sake  of  healing,  and  will 
laugh  at  you  because  you  are  simple . 
enough  to  believe  them. 

As  the  day  wears  and  the  impetus  of  the 
morning  dies  away,  there  will  come  upon 
you  an  overwhelming  sense  of  the  useless- 
ness  of  your  toil.  This  must  be  striven 
against,  and  the  only  spur  in  your  side  will 
be  the  belief  that  you  are  playing  against 
the  devil  for  the  living  soul.  It  is  a  great, 
a  joyous  belief;  but  he  who  can  hold  it  un- 


34        In  Black  and  White 

wavering  for  four-and-twenty  consecutive 
hours  must  be  blessed  with  an  abundantly 
strong  physique  and  equable  nerve. 

Ask  the  gray  heads  of  the  Bannockburn 
Medical  Crusade  what  manner  of  life  their 
preachers  lead;  speak  to  the  Racine  Gospel 
Agency,  those  lean  Americans  whose  boast 
is  that  they  go  where  no  Englishman  dare 
follow;  get  a  pastor  of  the  Tubingen  Mis- 
sion to  talk  of  his  experiences  —  if  you  can. 
You  will  be  referred  to  the  printed  reports, 
but  these  contain  no  mention  of  the  men 
who  have  lost  youth  and  health,  all  that  a 
man  may  lose  except  faith,  in  the  wilds; 
of  English  maidens  who  have  gone  forth 
and  died  in  the  fever-stricken  jungle  of  the 
Panth  Hills,  knowing  from  the  first  that 
death  was  almost  a  certainty.  Few  pastors 
will  tell  you  of  these  things  any  more  than 
they  will  speak  of  that  young  David  of  St. 
Bees,  who,  set  apart  for  the  Lord's  work, 
broke  down  in  the  utter  desolation,  and  re- 
turned half  distraught  to  the  head  mission 
crying:  "There  is  no  God,  but  I  have 
walked  with  the  devil!" 

The  reports  are  silent  here,  because  hero- 
ism, failure,  doubt,  despair  and  self-abnega- 
tion on  the  part  of  a  mere  cultured  white 
man  are  things  of  no  weight  as  compared 
to  the  saving  of  one  half-human  soul  from 
a  fantastic  faith  in  wood-spirits,  gobUns  of 
the  rock,  and  river-fiends. 


The  Judgment  of  Dungara    35 

And  Gallio,  the  assistant  collector  of  the 
country-side,  "  cared  for  none  of  these 
things."  He  had  been  long  in  the  district, 
and  the  Buria  Kol  loved  him  and  brought 
him  offerings  of  speared  fish,  orchids  from 
the  dim  moist  heart  of  the  forests,  and  as 
much  game  as  he  could  eat.  In  return,  he 
gave  them  quinine,  and  with  Athon  Daze, 
the  high  priest,  controlled  their  simple 
policies. 

"  When  you  have  been  some  years  in  the 
country,"  said  Gallio  at  the  Krenks'  table, 
'■  you  grow  to  find  one  creed  as  good  as 
another.  Til  give  you  all  the  assistance  in 
my  power,  of  course,  but  don't  hurt  my 
Buria  Kol.  They  are  a  good  people  and 
they  trust  me." 

"^I  will  them  the  Word  of  the  Lord 
teach,"  said  Jnstus,  his  round  face  beaming 
with  enthusiasm,  "  and  I  will  assuredly 
to  their  prejudices  no  wrong  hastily  with- 
out thinking  make.  But,  oh,  my  friend, 
this  in  the  mind  impartiality-of-creed-judg- 
ment-belooking  is  very  bad." 

"Heigh-ho!"  said  Gallio,  ''I  have  their 
bodies  and  the  district  to  see  to,  but  you 
can  try  what  you  can  do  for  their  souls. 
Only  don't  behave  as  your  predecessor  did, 
or  I'm  afraid  that  I  can't  guarantee  your 
life." 

"And  that?"  said  Lotta,  sturdily,  hand- 
ing him  a  cup  of  tea. 


36 


In  Black  ana  White 


"  He  went  up  to  the  Temple  of  Dungara 
—  to  be  sure  he  was  new  to  the  country  — 
and  began  hammering  old  Dungara  over 
the  head  with  an  umbrella;  so  the  Buria 
Kol  turned  out  and  hammered  him  rather 
savagely.     I  was  in  the  district,  and  he  sent 
a  runner  to  me  with  a  note,  saying:  'Per- 
secuted for  the  Lord's   sake.     Send  wing 
of    regiment.'     The    nearest    troops    were 
about  two  hundred  miles  off,  but  I  guessed 
what  he  had  been  doing.     I  rode  to  Panth 
and  talked  to  old  Athon  Daze  like  a  father, 
telling  him  that  a  man  of  his  wisdom  ought 
to  have  known  that  the  sahib  had  sunstroke 
and  was  mad.     You  never  saw  a  people 
more  sorry  in  your  life.    Athon  Daze  apolo- 
gized, sent  w^ood  and  milk  and  fowls  and 
all  sorts  of  things;  and  I  gave  five  rupees 
to  the  shrine  and  told  Macnamara  that  he 
had  been  injudicious.     He  said  that  I  had 
bowed  down  in  the  House  of  Rimmon;  but 
if  he  had  only  just  gone  over  the  brow  of 
the  hill  and  insulted  Palin  Deo,  the  idol  of  * 
the  Suria  Kol,  he  would  have  been  impaled 
on  a  charred  bamboo  long  before  I  could 
have  done  anything,  and  then  I  should  have 
had  to  have  hanged  some  of  the  poor  brutes. 
Be  gentle  with  them,  padri  —  but  I  don't 
think  you'll  do  much." 

"Not  I,"  said  Justus,  "but  my  IMaster. 
We  will  with  the  little  children  begin. 
Many  of  them  will   be   sick  —  that   is   so. 


The  Judgment  of  Dungara    37 

After  the  children  the  mothers;  and  then 
the  men.  But  I  would  greatly  that  you 
were  in  internal  sympathies  with  us  prefer." 

Gallio  departed  to  risk  his  life  in  mend- 
ing the  rotten  bamboo  bridges  of  his  peo- 
ple, in  killing  a  too-persistent  tiger  here  or 
there,  in  sleeping  out  in  the  reeking  jungle, 
or  in  tracking  the  Suria  Kol  raiders  who 
had  taken  a  few  heads  from  their  brethren 
of  the  Buria  clan.  A  knock-kneed,  sham- 
bling young  man  was  Gallio,  naturally  de- 
void of  creed  or  reverence,  with  a  longing 
for  absolute  power  which  his  undesirable 
district  gratified. 

"  No  one  wants  my  post,"  he  used  to 
say  grimly,  "  and  my  collector  only  pokes 
his  nose  in  when  he's  quite  certain  that 
there  is  no  fever.  I'm  monarch  of  all  I  sur- 
vey, and  Athon  Daze  is  my  viceroy." 

Because  Gallio  prided  himself  on  his  su- 
preme disregard  of  human  life  —  though  he 
never  extended  the  theory  beyond  his  own 
—  he  naturally  rode  forty  miles  to  the  mis- 
sion with  a  tiny  brown  baby  on  his  saddle- 
bow. 

"  Here  is  something  for  you,  padri,"  said 
he.  ''  The  Kols  leave  their  surplus  children 
to  die.  Don't  see  why  they  shouldn't,  but 
you  may  rear  this  one.  I  picked  it  up  be- 
yond the  Berbulda  fork.  I've  a  notion  that 
the  mother  has  been  following  me  through 
the  woods  ever  since." 


38         In  Black  and  White 

"  It  is  the  first  of  the  fold,"  said  Justus, 
and  Lotta  caught  up  the  screaming  morsel 
to  her  bosom  and  hushed  it  craftily;  while, 
as  a  wolf  hangs  in  the  field,  Matui,  who 
had  borne  it  and  in  accordance  with  the 
law  of  her  tribe  had  exposed  it  to  die, 
panted  wearily  and  foot-sore  in  the  bamboo 
brake,  watching  the  house  with  hungry 
mother-eyes.  What  should  the  omnipotent 
assistant  collector  do?  Would  the  little 
man  in  the  black  coat  eat  her  daughter  alive 
as  Athon  Daze  said  was  the  custom  of  all 
men  in  black  coats? 

Matui  waited  among  the  bamboos 
through  the  long  night;  and,  in  the  morn- 
ing, there  came  forth  a  fair  white  woman, 
the  like  of  whom  Matui  had  never  seen,  and 
in  her  arms  was  Matui's  daughter  clad  in 
spotless  raiment.  Lotta  knew  little  of  the 
tongue  of  the  Buria  Kol,  but  when  mother 
calls  to  mother,  speech  is  easy  to  under- 
stand. By  the  hands  stretched  timidly  to 
the  hem  of  her  gown,  by  the  passionate 
gutturals  and  the  longing  eyes,  Lotta  un- 
derstood with  whom  she  had  to  deal.  So 
Matui  took  the  child  again  —  would  be  a 
servant,  even  a  slave,  to  this  wonderful 
white  woman,  for  her  own  tribe  would  rec- 
ognize her  no  more.  And  Lotta  wept  with 
her  exhaustively,  after  the  German  fashion, 
which  includes  much  blowing  of  the  nose. 

*'  First  the  child,  then  the  mother,  and 


The  Judgment  of  Dungara    39 

last  the  man,  and  to  the  glory  of  God  all," 
said  Justus  the  Hopeful.  And  the  man 
came,  with  a  bow  and  arrows,  very  angry 
indeed,  for  there  was  no  one  to  cook  for 
him. 

But  the  tale  of  the  mission  is  a  long  one, 
and  I  have  no  space  to  show  how  Justus, 
forgetful  of  his  injudicious  predecessor, 
grievously  smote  ^loto,  the  husband  of 
]\Iatui,  for  his  brutality;  how  Moto  was 
startled,  but  being  released  from  the  fear 
of  instant  death,  took  heart  and  became  the 
faithful  ally  and  first  convert  of  Justus ;  how 
the  little  gathering  grew,  to  the  huge  dis- 
gust of  Athon  Daze;  how  the  priest  of  the 
God  of  Things  as  They  Are  argued  subtlely 
with  the  priest  of  the  God  of  Things  as 
They  Should  Be,  and  was  worsted;  how 
the  dues  of  the  Temple  of  Dungara  fell 
away  in  fowls  and  fish  and  honey-comb; 
how  Lotta  lightened  the  curse  of  Eve 
among  the  women,  and  how  Justus  did  his 
best  to  introduce  the  curse  of  Adam;  how 
the  Buria  Kol  rebelled  at  this,  saying  that 
their  god  was  an  idle  god,  and  how  Justus 
partially  overcame  their  scruples  against 
work,  and  taught  them  that  the  black  earth 
was  rich  in  other  produce  than  pig-nuts 
only. 

All  these  things  belong  to  the  history  of 
many  months,  and  throughout  those 
months  the  white-haired  Athon  Daze  medi- 


40        In  Black  and  White 

tated  revenge  for  the  tribal  neglect  of  Dun- 
gara.  With  savage  cunning  he  feigned 
friendship  toward  Justus,  even  hinting  at 
his  own  conversion;  but  to  the  congrega- 
tion of  Dungara  he  said,  darkly:  "They 
of  the  padri's  flock  have  put  on  clothes  and 
worship  a  busy  God.  Therefore  Dungara 
will  afflict  them  grievously  till  they  throw 
themselves  howling  into  the  waters  of  the 
Berbulda."  At  night  the  Red  Elephant 
Tusk  boomed  and  groaned  among  the  hills, 
and  the  faithful  waked  and  said:  "The 
God  of  Things  as  They  Are  matures  re- 
venge against  the  backsliders.  Be  merci- 
ful, Dungara,  to  us  thy  children,  and  give 
us  all  their  crops !  " 

Late  in  the  cold  weather  the  collector 
and  his  wife  came  into  the  Buria  Kol 
country.  "  Go  and  look  at  Krenk's  mis- 
sion," said  Gallio.  "  He  is  doing  good 
work  in  his  own  way,  and  I  think  he'd  be 
pleased  if  you  opened  the  bamboo  chapel 
that  he  has  managed  to  run  up.  At  any 
rate,  you'll  see  a  civilized  Buria  Kol." 

Great  was  the  stir  in  the  mission.  "  Now 
he  and  the  gracious  lady  will  that  we  have 
done  good  work  with  their  own  eyes  see, 
and  —  yes  —  we  will  him  our  converts  in 
all  their  new  clothes  by  their  own  hands 
constructed  exhibit.  It  will  a  great  day  be 
—  for  the  Lord  always,"  said  Justus;  and 
Lotta  said  "  Amen." 


The  Judgment  of  Dungara    41 

Justus  had,  in  his  quiet  way,  felt  jealous 
of  the  Basel  Weaving  Mission,  his  own 
converts  being  unhandy;  but  Athon  Daze 
had  latterly  induced  some  of  them  to 
hackle  the  glossy  silky  fibers  of  a  plant  that 
grew  plenteously  on  the  Panth  Hill.  It 
yielded  a  cloth  white  and  smooth  almost 
as  the  tappa  of  the  South  Seas,  and  that  day 
the  converts  were  to  wear  for  the  first  time 
clothes  made  therefrom.  Justus  was  proud 
of  his  work. 

"  They  shall  in  white  clothes  clothed  to 
meet  the  collector  and  his  well-born  lady 
come  down,  singing  *  Now  thank  we  all 
our  God.'  Then  he  will  the  chapel  open, 
and  —  yes  —  even  Gallio  to  believe  will  be- 
gin. Stand  so,  my  children,  two  by  two, 
and  —  Lotta,  why  do  they  thus  themselves 
scratch?  It  is  not  seemly  to  wriggle,  Nala, 
my  child.  The  collector  will  be  here  and 
be  pained." 

The  collector,  his  wife,  and  Gallio 
climbed  the  hill  to  the  mission  station. 
The  converts  were  drawn  up  in  two  lines, 
a  shining  band  nearly  forty  strong. 
"  Hah!  "  said  the  collector,  whose  acquisi- 
tive bent  of  mind  led  him  to  believe  that 
he  had  fostered  the  institution  from  the 
first. 

"  Advancing,  I  see,  by  leaps  and 
bounds." 

Never  was  truer  word  spoken !    The  mis- 


42         In  Black  and  White 

sion  was  advancing  exactly  as  he  had  said 
—  at  first  by  httle  hops  and  shuffles  of 
shame-faced  uneasiness,  but  soon  by  the 
leaps  of  fly-stung  horses  and  the  bounds 
of  maddened  kangaroos.  From  the  hill  of 
Panth  the  Red  Elephant  Tusk  delivered  a 
dry  and  anguished  blare.  The  ranks  of  the 
converts  wavered,  broke  and  scattered  with 
yells  and  shrieks  of  pain,  while  Justus  and 
Lotta  stood  horror-stricken. 

*' It  is  the  judgment  of  Dungara!" 
shouted  a  voice.  ''  I  burn!  I  burn!  To 
the  river  or  we  die!  " 

The  mob  wheeled  and  headed  for  the 
rocks  that  overhung  the  Berbulda,  writh- 
ing, stamping,  twisting  and  shedding  its 
garments  as  it  ran,  pursued  by  the  thunder 
of  the  trumpet  of  Dungara.  Justus  and 
Lotta  fled  to  the  collector  almost  in  tears. 

"  I  can  not  understand !  Yesterday," 
panted  Justus,  "  they  had  the  Ten  Com- 
mandments—  What  is  this?  Praise  the 
Lord  all  good  spirits  by  land  or  bv  sea. 
Nala!     Oh,  shame!" 

With  a  bound  and  a  scream  there 
alighted  on  the  rocks  above  their  heads, 
Nala,  once  the  pride  of  the  mission,  a 
maiden  of  fourteen  summers,  good,  docile, 
and  virtuous  —  now  naked  as  the  dawn 
and  spitting  like  a  wild-cat. 

*' Was  it  for  this!"  she  raved,  hurling 
her  petticoat  at  Justus;  ''was  it  for  this  I 


The  Judgment  of  Dungara    43 

left  my  people  and  Dungara  —  for  the  fires 
of  your  bad  place?  Blind  ape,  little  earth- 
worm, dried  fish  that  you  are,  you  said 
that  I  should  never  burn!  Oh,  Dungara, 
I  burn  now!  I  burn  now!  Have  mercy, 
God  of  Things  as  They  Are!  " 

Slie  turned  and  flung  herself  into  the 
Berbulda,  and  the  trumpet  of  Dungara  bel- 
lowed jubilantly.  The  last  of  the  converts 
of  the  Tubingen  Mission  had  put  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  of  rapid  river  between  herself 
and  her  teachers. 

"  Yesterday,"  gulped  Justus,  "she  taught 
in  the  school  A,  B,  C,  D.  Oh!  It  is  the 
w^ork  of  Satan !  " 

But  Gallio  was  curiously  regarding  the 
maiden's  petticoat  where  it  had  fallen  at 
his  feet.  He  felt  its  texture,  drew  back  his 
shirt-sleeve  beyond  the  deep  tan  of  his 
hand  and  pressed  a  fold  of  the  cloth  against 
the  flesh.  A  blotch  of  angry  red  rose  on 
the  white  skin. 

"Ah!"  said  Gallio,  calmly,  "I  thought 
so." 

"  What  is  it?"  said  Justus. 

"  I  should  call  it  the  Shirt  of  Nessus, 
but  —  Where  did  you  get  the  fiber  of  this 
cloth  from  ?  " 

"  Athon  Daze,"  said  Justus.  "  He 
showed  the  boys  how  it  should  manufac- 
tured be." 

"  The  old  fox !     Do  you  know  that  he 


44         In  Black  and  White 

has  given  you  the  Nllgirl  nettle  —  scor- 
pion —  Girar (tenia  hcterophylla  —  to  work 
up.  No  wonder  they  squirmed!  Why,  it 
stings  even  when  they  make  bridge-ropes 
of  it,  unless  it's  soaked  for  six  weeks.  The 
cunning  brute!  It  would  take  about  half 
an  hour  to  burn  through  their  thick  hides, 
and  then—!" 

Gallio  burst  into  laughter,  but  Lotta  was 
weeping  in  the  arms  of  the  collector's  wife, 
and  Justus  had  covered  his  face  with  his 
hands. 

"  Girar denia  heterophylla !  "  repeated  Gal- 
lio. "  Krenk,  why  didn't  you  tell  me?  I 
could  have  saved  you  this.  Woven  fire! 
Anybody  but  a  naked  Kol  would  have 
known  it,  and,  if  I'm  a  judge  of  their  ways, 
you'll  never  get  them  back." 

He  looked  across  the  river  to  where  the 
converts  were  still  wallowing  and  wailing 
in  the  shallows,  and  the  laughter  died  out 
of  his  eyes,  for  he  saw  that  the  Tubingen 
Mission  to  the  Buria  Kol  w^as  dead. 

Never  again,  though  they  hung  mourn- 
fully round  the  deserted  school  for  three 
months,  could  Lotta  or  Justus  coax  back 
even  the  most  promising  of  their  flock. 
No!  The  end  of  conversion  was  the  fire 
of  the  bad  place  —  fire  that  ran  through 
the  limbs  and  gnawed  into  the  bones. 
Who  dare  a  second  time  tempt  the  anger 
of  Dungara?     Let  the  little  man  and  his 


The  Judgment  of  Dungara    45 

wife  go  elsewhere.  The  Buria  Kol  would 
have  none  of  them.  An  unofficial  message 
to  Athon  Daze  that  if  a  hair  of  their  heads 
were  touched,  Athon  Daze  and  the  priests 
of  Dungara  would  be  hanged  by  Gallio  at 
the  temple  shrine,  protected  Justus  and 
Lotta  from  the  stump  poisoned  arrows  of 
the  Buria  Kol,  but  neither  fish  nor  fowl, 
honey-comb,  salt  nor  young  pig  were 
brought  to  their  doors  any  more.  And, 
alas!  man  can  not  live  by  grace  alone  if 
meat  be  wanting. 

'*  Let  us  go,  mine  wife,"  said  Justus; 
"  there  is  no  good  here,  and  the  Lord  has 
willed  that  some  other  man  shall  the  work 
take  —  in  good  time  —  in  His  own  good 
time.  We  will  go  away,  and  I  will  —  yes 
—  some  botany  bestudy." 

If  any  one  is  anxious  to  convert  the 
Buria  Kol  afresh,  there  lies  at  least  the 
core  of  a  mission-house  under  the  hill  of 
Panth.  But  the  chapel  and  school  have 
long  since  fallen  back  into  jungle. 


AT  HOWLI  THANA 


His  own  shoe,  his  own  head. — Native  Proverb. 

As  A  messenger,  if  the  heart  of  the  Pres- 
ence be  moved  to  so  great  favor.  And  on 
six  rupees.  Yes,  sahib,  for  I  have  three 
Httle,  little  children,  whose  stomachs  are 
always  empty,  and  corn  is  now  but  twenty 
pounds  to  the  rupee.  I  will  make  so 
clever  a  messenger  that  you  shall  all  day 
long  be  pleased  with  me,  and,  at  the  end 
of  the  year,  bestow  a  turban.  I  know  all 
the  roads  of  the  station  and  many  other 
things.  Aha,  sahib!  I  am  clever.  Give 
me  service.  I  was  aforetime  in  the  police. 
A  bad  character?  Now  without  doubt  an 
enemy  has  told  his  tale.  Never  was  I  a 
scamp.  I  am  a  man  of  clean  heart,  and 
all  my  words  are  true.  They  knew  this 
when  I  was  in  the  pohce.  They  said: 
"  Afzal  Khan  is  a  true  speaker  in  whose 
words  men  may  trust."  I  am  a  Delhi 
Pathan,  sahib  —  all  Delhi  Pathans  are 
good  men.  You  have  seen  Delhi?  Yes, 
it  is  true  that  there  be  many  scamps  among 

46 


At  Howli  Thana  47 

the  Delhi  Pathans.  How  wise  is  the  sahib! 
Nothing  is  hid  from  his  eyes,  and  he  will 
make  me  his  messenger,  and  I  will  take  all 
his  notes  secretly  and  without  ostentation. 
Nay,  sahib,  God  is  my  witness  that  I  meant 
no  evil.  I  have  long  desired  to  serve  under 
a  true  sahib  —  a  virtuous  sahib.  Many 
young  sahibs  are  as  devils  unchained. 
With  these  sahibs  I  would  take  no  service 

—  not  though  all  the  stomachs  of  my  little 
children  were  crying  for  bread. 

Why  am  I  not  still  in  the  police?  I  will 
speak  true  talk.  An  evil  came  to  the 
Thana  —  to  Ram  Baksh,  the  Havildar,  and 
Maula  Baksh,  and  Juggut  Ram  and  Bhim 
Singh  and  Suruj  Bui.  Ram  Baksh  is  in 
the  jail  for  a  space,  and  so  also  is  Maula 
Baksh. 

It  was  at  the  Thana  of  Howli,  on  the 
road  that  leads  to  Gokral-Seetarun,  wherein 
are  many  dacoits.     We  were  all  brave  men 

—  Rustums.  Wherefore  we  were  sent  to 
that  Thana  \i^hich  was  eight  miles  from  the 
next  Thana.  All  day  and  all  night  we 
watched  for  dacoits.  Why  does  the  sahib 
laugh?  Nay,  I  will  make  a  confession. 
The  dacoits  were  too  clever,  and,  seeing 
this,  we  made  no  further  trouble.  It  was 
in  the  hot  w^eather.  What  can  a  man  do 
in  the  hot  days?  Is  the  sahib  who  is  so 
strong  —  is  he,  even,  vigorous  in  that  hour? 
We  made  an  arrangement  with  the  dacoits 


48         In  Black  and  White 

for  the  sake  of  peace.  That  was  the  work 
of  the  Havildar,  who  was  fat.  Ho!  ho! 
sahib,  he  is  now  getting  thin  in  the  jail 
among  the  carpets.  The  Havildar  said: 
''  Give  us  no  trouble,  and  we  will  give  you 
no  trouble.  At  the  end  of  the  reaping  send 
us  a  man  to  lead  before  the  judge,  a  man 
of  infirm  mind  against  whom  the 
trumped-up  case  will  break  down.  Thus 
we  shall  save  our  honor."  To  this  talk 
the  dacoits  agreed,  and  we  had  no  trouble 
at  the  Thana,  and  could  eat  melons  in 
peace,  sitting  upon  our  charpoys  all  day 
long.  Sweet  as  sugar-cane  are  the  melons 
of  Howli. 

Now,  there  was  an  assistant  commis- 
sioner—  a  Stunt  Sahib,  in  that  district, 
called  Yunkum  Sahib.  Aha!  He  was 
hard  —  hard  even  as  is  the  sahib  who, 
without  doubt,  will  give  me  the  shadow  of 
his  protection.  Many  eyes  had  Yunkum 
Sahib,  and  moved  quickly  through  his  dis- 
trict. Men  called  him  The  Tiger  of 
Gokral-Seetarun,  because  he  would  arrive 
unannounced  and  make  his  kill,  and  before 
sunset,  would  be  giving  trouble  to  the 
Tehsildars  thirty  miles  away.  No  one 
knew  the  comings  or  the  goings  of  Yun- 
kum Sahib.  He  had  no  camp,  and  when 
his  horse  was  weary  he  rode  upon  a  devil- 
carriage.  I  do  not  know  its  name,  but  the 
sahib  sat  in  the  midst  of  three  silver  wheels 


At  Howli  Thana 


49 


that  made  no  creaking,  and  drove  them 
with  his  legs,  prancing  Hke  a  bean-fed 
horse  —  thus.  A  shadow  of  a  hawk  upon 
the  fields  was  not  more  without  noise  than 
the  devil-carriage  of  Yunkum  Sahib.  It 
was  here;  it  was  there;  it  was  gone;  and 
the  rapport  was  made,  and  there  was  trou- 
ble. Ask  the  Tehsildar  of  Rohestri  how 
the  hen-stealing  came  to  be  known,  sahib. 

It  fell  upon  a  night  that  we  of  the  Thana 
slept  according  to  custom  upon  our  char- 
poys,  having  eaten  the  evening  meal  and 
drunk  tobacco.  When  we  awoke  in  the 
morning,  behold,  of  our  six  rifles  not  one 
remained!  Also,  the  big  police-book  that 
was  in  the  Havildar's  charge  was  gone. 
Seeing  these  things,  we  were  very  much 
afraid,  thinking  on  our  parts  that  the 
dacoits,  regardless  of  honor,  had  come  by 
night,  and  put  us  to  shame.  Then  said 
Ram  Baksh,  the  Havildar:  "Be  silent! 
The  business  is  an  evil  business,  but  it  may 
yet  go  well.  Let  us  make  the  case  com- 
plete. Bring  a  kid  and  my  tulwar.  See 
you  not  now,  oh  fools'?  A  kick  for  a  horse, 
but  a  word  is  enough  for  a  man." 

We  of  the  Thana,  perceiving  quickly 
what  was  in  the  mind  of  Havildar,  and 
greatly  fearing  that  the  service  would  be 
lost,  made  haste  to  take  the  kid  into  the 
inner  room,  and  attended  to  the  words  of 
the    Havildar.     *'  Twentv    dacoits    came," 


50         In  Black  and  White 

said  the  Havildar,  and  we,  taking  his 
words,  repeated  after  him  according  to  cus- 
tom. *'  There  w^as  a  great  fight,"  said  the 
Havildar,  "  and  of  us  no  man  escaped  un- 
hurt. The  bars  of  the  window  were 
broken.  Suruj  Bui,  see  thou  to  that;  and, 
oh  men,  put  speed  into  your  work,  for  a 
runner  must  go  with  the  news  to  The  Tiger 
of  Gokral-Seetarun."  Thereon,  Suruj  Bui, 
leaning  with  his  shoulder,  brake  in  the  bars 
of  the  window,  and  I,  beating  her  with  a 
whip,  made  the  Havildar's  mare  skip 
among  the  melon-beds  till  they  were  much 
trodden  with  hoof-prints. 

These  things  being  made,  I  returned  to 
the  Thana,  and  the  goat  was  slain;  and 
certain  portions  of  the  walls  were  black- 
ened with  fire,  and  each  man  dipped  his 
clothes  a  little  into  the  blood  of  the  goat. 
Know,  oh,  sahib,  that  a  wound  made  by 
man  upon  his  own  body  can,  by  those 
skilled,  be  easily  discerned  from  a  wound 
wrought  by  another  man.  Therefore,  the 
Havildar,  taking  his  tulwar,  smote  one  of 
us  lightly  on  the  forearm  in  the  fat,  and 
another  on  the  leg,  and  a  third  on  the  back 
of  the  hand.  Thus  dealt  he  with  all  of  us 
till  the  blood  came;  and  Suruj  Bui,  more 
eager  than  the  others,  took  out  much  hair. 
Oh,  sahib,  never  was  so  perfect  an  arrange- 
ment. Yea,  even  I  would  have  sworn  that 
the  Thana  had  been  treated   as   we   said. 


At  Howli  Thana  51 

There  was  smoke  and  breaking  and  blood 
and  trampled  earth. 

*'  Ride  now,  Maula  Baksh,"  said  the 
Havildar,  ''  to  the  house  of  the  Stunt  Sahib, 
and  carry  the  news  of  the  dacoity.  Do 
you  also,  oh,  Afzal  Khan,  run  there,  and 
take  heed  that  you  are  mired  with  sweat 
and  dust  on  your  in-coming.  The  blood 
will  be  dry  on  the  clothes.  I  will  stay  and 
send  a  straight  report  to  the  Dipty  Sahib, 
and  we  will  catch  certain  that  ye  know  of, 
villagers,  so  that  all  may  be  ready  against 
the  Dipty  Sahib's  arrival." 

Thus  Maula  Baksh  rode  and  I  ran  hang- 
ing on  the  stirrup,  and  together  we  came 
in  an  evil  plight  before  The  Tiger  of 
Gokral-Seetarun  in  the  Rohestri  tehsil. 
Our  tale  was  long  and  correct,  sahib,  for 
we  gave  even  the  names  of  the  dacoits  and 
the  issue  of  the  fight,  and  besought  him 
to  come.  But  The  Tiger  made  no  sign, 
and  only  smiled  after  the  manner  of  sahibs 
when  they  have  a  wickedness  in  their 
hearts.  *' Swear  ye  to  the  rapport?"  said 
he,  and  we  said :  *'  Thy  servants  swear. 
The  blood  of  the  fight  is  but  newly  dry 
upon  us.  Judge  thou  if  it  be  the  blood 
of  the  servants  of  the  Presence,  or  not." 
And  he  said:  "I  see.  Ye  have  done 
well."  But  he  did  not  call  for  his  horse  or 
his  devil-carriage,  and  scour  the  land  as 
was   his    custom.     He   said :     "  Rest   now 


52  In  Black  and  White 

and  eat  bread,  for  ye  be  wearied  rnen.  I 
will  wait  the  coming  of  the  Dipty  Sahib." 
Now,  it  is  the  order  that  the  Havildar 
of  the  Thana  should  send  a  straight  report 
of  all  dacoities  to  the  Dipty  Sahib.  At 
noon  came  he,  a  fat  man  and  an  old,  and 
overbearing  withal,  but  we  of  the  Thana 
had  no  fear  of  his  anger;  dreading  more 
the  silences  of  The  Tiger  of  Gokral-See- 
tarun.  With  him  came  Ram  Baksh,  the 
Havildar,  and  the  others,  guarding  ten 
men  of  the  village  of  Howli  —  all  men  evil 
affected  toward  the  police  of  the  Sirkar. 
As  prisoners  they  came,  the  irons  upon 
their  hands,  crying  for  mercy  —  Imam 
Baksh,  the  farmer,  who  had  denied  his  wife 
to  the  Havildar,  and  others,  ill-conditioned 
rascals  against  whom  we  of  the  Thana  bore 
spite.  It  was  well  done,  and  the  Havildar 
was  proud.  But  the  Dipty  Sahib  was 
angry  with  the  Stunt  for  lack  of  zeal,  and 
said  "  Dam-Dam  "  after  the  custom  of  the 
English  people,  and  extolled  the  Havildar. 
Yunkum  Sahib  lay  still  in  his  long  chair. 
"Have  the  men  sworn?"  said  Yunkum 
Sahib.  ''  Ay,  and  captured  ten  evil-doers," 
said  the  Dipty  Sahib.  ''  There  be  more 
abroad  in  your  charge.  Take  horse  — 
ride,  and  go  in  the  name  of  the  Sirkar!  " 
"  Truly  there  be  more  evil-doers  abroad," 
said  Yunkum  Sahib,  "  but  there  is  no  need 
of  a  horse.     Come  all  men  with  me." 


At  Howli  Thana  53 

I  saw  the  mark  of  a  string  on  the  temple 
of  Imam  Baksh.  Does  the  Presence  know 
the  torture  of  the  Cold  Draw?  I  saw  also 
the  face  of  The  Tiger  of  Gokral-Seetarim, 
the  evil  smile  was  upon  it,  and  I  stood  back 
ready  for  what  might  befall.  Well  it  was, 
sahib,  that  I  did  this  thing.  Yunkum  Sa- 
hib unlocked  the  door  of  his  bath-room, 
and  smiled  anew.  Within  lay  the  six  rifles 
and  the  big  police-book  of  the  Thana  of 
Howli!  He  had  come  by  night  in  the 
devil-carriage  that  is  noiseless  as  a  ghoul, 
and,  moving  among  us  asleep,  had  taken 
away  both  the  guns  and  the  book!  Twice 
had  he  come  to  the  Thana,  taking  each 
time  three  rifles.  The  liver  of  the  Havil- 
dar  was  turned  to  water,  and  he  fell  scrab- 
bling in  the  dirt  about  the  boots  of  Yunkum 
Sahib,  crying,  "  Have  mercy!  " 

And  I?  Sahib,  I  am  a  Delhi  Pathan, 
and  a  young  man  with  little  children.  The 
Havildar's  mare  was  in  the  compound.  I 
ran  to  her  and  rode;  the  black  wrath  of  the 
Sirkar  was  behind  me,  and  I  knew  not 
whither  to  go.  Till  she  dropped  and  died 
I  rode  the  red  mare ;  and  by  the  blessing  of 
God,  who  is  without  doubt  on  the  side  of 
all  just  men,  I  escaped.  But  the  Havildar 
and  the  rest  are  now  in  jail.  ...  I  am 
a  scamp!  It  is  as  the  Presence  pleases. 
God  will  make  the  Presence  a  Lord,  and 
give  him  a  rich  Mcmsahib  as  fair  as  a  peri 


54         In  Black  and  White 

to  wife,  and  many  strong  sons,  if  he  makes 
me  his  orderly.  The  mercy  of  Heaven  be 
upon  the  sahib!  Yes,  I  will  only  go  to  the 
bazaar  and  bring  my  children  to  these  so- 
palace-like  quarters,  and  then  —  the  Pres- 
ence is  my  father  and  my  mother,  and  I, 
Afzal  Khan,  am  his  slave. 

Ohe,  Sirdar-ji!    I  also  am  of  the  house- 
hold of  the  sahib. 


GEMINI 


Great  is  the  justice  of  the  White  Man  — greater 
the  power  of  a  lie, — Native  Proverb. 

This  is  your  English  justice,  protector 
of  the  poor.  Look  at  my  back  and  loins, 
which  are  beaten  with  sticks  —  heavy 
sticks!  I  am  a  poor  man,  and  there  is  no 
justice  in  courts. 

There  were  two  of  us,  and  we  were  born 
of  one  birth,  but  I  swear  to  you  that  I  was 
born  the  first,  and  Ram  Dass  is  the  younger 
by  three  full  breaths.  The  astrologer  said 
so,  and  it  is  written  in  my  horoscope  —  the 
horoscope  of  Durga  Dass. 

But  we  were  alike  —  I  and  my  brother 
who  is  a  beast  without  honor  —  so  alike 
that  none  knew,  together  or  apart,  which 
was  Durga  Dass.  I  am  a  Mahajun  of  Pali 
in  3.1arwar,  and  an  honest  man.  This  is 
true  talk.  When  we  were  men,  we  left 
our  father's  house  in  Pali,  and  went  to  the 
Punjab,  where  all  the  people  are  mud-heads 
and  sons  of  asses.  We  took  shop  together 
in  Isser  Jang  —  I  and  my  brother  —  near 

55 


56         In  Black  and  White 

the  big  well  where  the  governor's  camp 
draws  water.  But  Ram  Dass,  who  is  with- 
out truth,  made  quarrel  with  me,  and  we 
were  divided.  He  took  his  books,  and  his 
pots,  and  his  Mark,  and  became  a  hiinnia  — 
a  money-lender  —  in  the  long  street  of  Isser 
Jang,  near  the  gate-way  of  the  road  that 
goes  to  Montgomery.  It  was  not  my  fault 
that  we  pulled  each  other's  turbans.  I  am 
a  Mahajun  of  Pali,  and  I  always  speak  true 
talk.     Ram  Dass  was  the  thief  and  the  liar. 

Now,  no  man,  not  even  the  little  chil- 
dren, could  at  one  glance  see  which  was 
Ram  Dass  and  which  was  Durga  Dass. 
But  all  the  people  of  Isser  Jang — may  they 
die  without  sons !  —  said  that  we  were 
thieves.  They  used  much  bad  talk,  but  I 
took  money  on  their  bedsteads  and  their 
cooking-pots  and  the  standing  crop  and  the 
calf  unborn,  from  the  well  in  the  big  square 
to  the  gate  of  the  Montgomery  road.  They 
were  fools,  these  people  —  unfit  to  cut  the 
toe-nails  of  a  Marwari  from  Pali.  I  lent 
money  to  them  all.  A  little,  very  little  only 
—  here  a  pice  and  there  a  pice. 

God  is  my  witness  that  I  am  a  poor  man! 
The  money  is  all  with  Ram  Dass  —  may  his 
sons  turn  Christian,  and  his  daughter  be  a 
burning  fire  and  a  shame  in  the  house  from 
generation  to  generation!  Alay  she  die  un- 
wed, and  be  the  mother  of  a  multitude  of 
bastards!     Let  the  light  go  out  in  the  house 


Gemini  57 

of  Ram  Dass,  my  brother.  This  I  pray 
daily  twice  —  with  offerings  and  charms. 
Thus  the  trouble  began.  We  divided  the 
town  of  Isser  Jang  between  us  —  I  and  my 
brother.  There  was  a  landholder  beyond 
the  gates,  living  but  one  short  mile  out,  on 
the  road  that  leads  to  Montgomery,  and  his 
name  was  Mohammed  Shah,  son  of  a  Na- 
wab.  He  was  a  great  dev  i  and  drank  wine. 
So  long  as  there  were  women  in  his  house, 
and  wine  and  money  for  the  marriage- 
feasts,  he  was  merry  and  wiped  his  mouth. 
Ram  Dass  lent  him  the  money,  a  lakh  or 
half  a  lakh  —  how  do  I  know?  —  and  so 
long  as  the  money  was  lent,  the  landholder 
cared  not  what  he  signed. 

The  people  of  Isser  Jang  were  my  por- 
tion, and  the  landholder  and  the  out-town 
was  the  portion  of  Ram  Dass;  for  so  we 
had  arranged.  I  was  the  poor  man,  for  the 
people  of  Isser  Jang  were  without  wealth. 
I  did  what  I  could,  but  Ram  Dass  had  only 
to  wait  without  the  door  of  the  landholder's 
garden-court,  and  to  lend  him  the  money; 
taking  the  bonds  from  the  hand  of  the 
steward. 

In  the  autumn  of  the  year  after  the  lend- 
ing. Ram  Dass  said  to  the  landholder: 
"Pay  me  my  money;"  but  the  landholder 
gave  him  abuse.  But  Ram  Dass  went  into 
the  courts  with  the  papers  and  the  bonds  — 
all  correct  —  and  took  our  decrees  against 


58         In  Black  and  White 

the  landholder:  and  the  name  of  the  gov- 
ernment was  across  the  stamps  of  the  de- 
crees. Ram  Dass  took  held  by  field,  and 
mango-tree  by  mango-tree,  and  well  by 
well ;  putting  in  his  own  men  —  debtors  of 
the  out-town  of  Isser  Jang  —  to  cultivate 
the  crops.  So  he  crept  up  across  the  land, 
for  he  had  the  papers,  and  the  name  of  the 
government  was  across  the  stamps,  till  his 
men  held  the  crops  for  him  on  all  sides  of 
the  big  white  house  of  the  landholder.  It 
was  well  done:  but  when  the  landholder 
saw  these  things  he  Avas  very  angry  and 
cursed  Ram  Dass  after  the  manner  of  the 
]\Iohammedans. 

And  thus  the  landholder  was  angry,  but 
Ram  Dass  laughed  and  claimed  more  fields, 
as  was  written  upon  the  bonds.  This  was 
in  the  month  of  Phagun.  I  took  my  horse 
and  went  out  to  speak  to  the  man  who 
makes  lac-bangles  upon  the  road  that  leads 
to  ^lontgomery,  because  he  owed  me  a 
debt.  There  was  in  front  of  me,  upon  his 
horse,  my  brother  Ram  Dass.  And  when 
he  saw  me,  he  turned  aside  into  the  high 
crops,  because  there  was  hatred  between  us. 
And  I  went  forward  till  I  came  to  the  or- 
ange-bushes by  the  landholder's  house. 
The  bats  were  flying,  and  the  evening 
smoke  was  low  down  upon  the  land. 
Here  met  me  four  men  —  swashbucklers 
and     ^.lohammedans  —  with     their     faces 


Gemini  59 

bound  up,  laying  hold  of  my  horse's  bridle 
and  crying  out:  "This  is  Ram  DassI 
Beat  I  *'  ]Nle  they  beat  with  their  staves  — 
heavy  staves  bound  about  with  wire  at  the 
end,  such  weapons  as  those  swine  of  Pun- 
jabis use  —  till,  having  cried  for  mercy.  I 
fell  down  senseless.  But  these  shameless 
ones  still  beat  me,  saying:  *'  Oh,  Ram  Dass, 
this  is  your  interest  —  well  weighed  and 
counted  into  your  hand.  Ram  Dass."  I 
cried  aloud  that  I  was  not  Ram  Dass  but 
Durga  Dass,  his  brother,  yet  they  only  beat 
me  the  more,  and  when  I  could  make  no 
more  outcr>'  they  left  me.  But  I  saw  their 
faces.  There  was  Elahi  Baksh  who  runs 
by  the  side  of  the  landholder's  white  horse, 
and  Xur  Ali  the  keeper  of  the  door,  and 
W'ajib  Ali  the  ver}-  strong  cook,  and  Abdul 
Latif  the  messenger  —  all  of  the  household 
of  the  landholder.  These  things  I  can 
swear  on  the  cow's  tail  if  need  be,  but  — 
Ahi!  Ahi!  —  it  has  been  already  sworn, 
and  I  am  a  poor  man  whose  honor  is  lost. 
When  these  four  had  gone  away  laugh- 
ing, my  brother  Ram  Dass  came  out  of  the 
crops  and  mourned  over  me  as  one  dead. 
But  I  opened  my  eyes,  and  prayed  him  to 
get  me  water.  \Vhen  I  had  drunk,  he  car- 
ried me  on  his  back,  and  by  by-ways 
brought  me  into  the  town  of  Isser  Jang. 
Mv  heart  was  turned  to   Ram   Dass.   mv 


6o         In  Black  and  White 

brother,  in  that  hour,  because  of  his  kind- 
ness, and  I  lost  my  enmity. 

But  a  snake  is  a  snake  till  it  is  dead;  and 
a  liar  is  a  liar  till  the  judgment  of  the  gods 
takes  hold  of  his  heel.  I  was  wrong  in 
that  I  trusted  my  brother  —  the  son  of  my 
mother. 

When  we  had  come  to  his  house  and  I 
was  a  little  restored,  I  told  him  my  tale,  and 
he  said:  ''Without  doubt,  it  is  me  whom 
they  would  have  beaten.  But  the  law 
courts  are  open,  and  there  is  the  justice  of 
the  Sirkar  above  all ;  and  to  the  law  courts 
do  thou  go  when  this  sickness  is  overpast." 

Now  when  we  two  had  left  Pali  in  the 
old  years,  there  fell  a  famine  that  ran  from 
Jeysulmir  to  Gurgaon  and  touched  Go- 
gunda  in  the  south.  At  that  time  the  sis- 
ter of  my  father  came  away  and  lived  with 
us  in  Isser  Jang;  for  a  man  must  above  all 
see  that  his  folk  do  not  die  of  want.  When 
the  quarrel  between  us  twain  came  about, 
the  sister  of  my  father  —  a  lean  she-dog 
without  teeth  —  said  that  Ram  Dass  had 
the  right,  and  went  with  him.  Into  her 
hands  —  because  she  knew  medicines  and 
many  cures  —  Ram  Dass,  my  brother,  put 
me  faint  with  the  beating  and  much  bruised 
even  to  the  pouring  of  blood  from  the 
mouth.  When  I  had  two  days'  sickness 
the  fever  came  upon  me;  and  I  set  aside  the 


Gemini  6 1 

fever  to  the  account  written  in  my  mind 
against  the  landholder. 

The  Punjabis  of  Isser  Jang  are  all  the 
sons  of  Belial  and  a  she-ass,  but  they  are 
very  good  witnesses,  bearing  testimony  un- 
shakenly  whatever  the  pleaders  may  say. 
I  would  purchase  witnesses  by  the  score, 
and  each  man  should  give  evidence,  not 
only  against  Nur  AH,  Wajib  Ali,  Abdul 
Latif  and  Elahi  Baksh,  but  against  the 
landholder,  saying  that  he  upon  his  white 
horse  had  called  his  men  to  beat  me;  and, 
further,  that  they  had  robbed  me  of  two 
hundred  rupees.  For  the  latter  testimony, 
I  would  remit  a  little  of  the  debt  of  the 
man  who  sold  the  lac-bangles,  and  he 
should  say  that  he  had  put  the  money  into 
my  hands,  and  had  seen  the  robbery  from 
afar,  but,  being  afraid,  had  run  away. 
This  plan  I  told  to  my  brother  Ram  Dass; 
and  he  said  that  the  arrangement  was  good, 
and  bade  me  take  comfort  and  make  swift 
work  to  be  abroad  again.  My  heart  was 
open  to  my  brother  in  my  sickness,  and  I 
told  him  the  names  of  those  whom  I  would 
call  as  witnesses  —  all  men  in  my  debt,  but 
of  that  the  magistrate  sahib  could  have  no 
knowledge,  nor  the  landholder.  The  fever 
stayed  with  me,  and  after  the  fever,  I  was 
taken  with  colic,  and  gripings  very  terrible. 
In  that  day  I  thought  that  my  end  was  at 
hand,  but  I  know  now  that  she  who  gave 


62         In  Black  and  White 

me  the  medicines,  the  sister  of  my  father  — 
a  widow,  with  a  widow's  heart  —  had 
brought  about  my  second  sickness.  Ram 
Dass,  my  brother,  said  that  my  house  was 
shut  and  locked,  and  brought  me  the  big 
door-key  and  my  books,  together  with  all 
the  moneys  that  were  in  my  house  —  even 
the  money  that  was  buried  under  the  floor; 
for  I  was  in  great  fear  lest  thieves  should 
break  in  and  dig.  I  speak  true  talk ;  there 
was  but  very  little  money  in  my  house. 
Perhaps  ten  rupees  —  perhaps  twenty. 
How  can  I  tell?  God's  my  witness  that  I 
am  a  poor  man. 

One  night,  when  I  had  told  Ram  Dass 
all  that  was  in  my  heart  of  the  lawsuit  that 
I  would  bring  against  the  landholder,  and 
Ram  Dass  said  that  he  had  made  the  ar- 
rangement with  the  witnesses,  giving  me 
their  names  written,  I  was  taken  with  a 
new  great  sickness,  and  they  put  me  on 
the  bed.  When  I  was  a  little  recovered  — 
I  can  not  tell  how  many  days  afterward  — 
I  made  inquiry  for  Ram  Dass,  and  the  sis- 
ter of  my  father  said  that  he  had  gone  to 
Montgomery  upon  a  lawsuit.  I  took  medi- 
cine and  slept  very  heavily  without  waking. 
When  my  eyes  were  opened,  there  was  a 
great  stillness  in  the  house  of  Ram  Dass, 
and  none  answered  when  I  called  —  not 
even  the  sister  of  my  father.     This  filled  me 


Gemini  63 

with    fear,    for    I    knew    not    what    had 
happened. 

Taking  a  stick  in  my  hand,  I  went  out 
slowly,  till  I  came  to  the  great  square  by 
the  well,  and  my  heart  was  hot  in  me 
against  the  landholder  because  of  the  pain 
of  every  step  I  took. 

I  called  for  Jowar  Singh,  the  carpenter, 
whose  name  was  first  upon  the  list  of  those 
who  should  bear  evidence  against  the  land- 
holder, saying:  "Are  all  things  ready, 
and  do  you  know  what  should  be  said?  " 

Jowar  Singh  answered :  *'  What  is  this, 
and  whence  do  you  come,  Durga  Dass?" 

I  said:  *' From  my  bed,  where  I  have 
so  long  lain  sick  because  of  the  landholder. 
Where  is  Ram  Dass,  my  brother,  who  was 
to  have  made  the  arrangements  for  the  wit- 
nesses? Surelv  you  and  yours  know  these 
things?" 

Then  Jowar  Singh  said:  "What  has 
this  to  do  with  us,  oh,  liar?  I  have  borne 
witness  and  have  been  paid,  and  the  land- 
holder has,  by  the  order  of  the  court,  paid 
both  the  five  hundred  rupees  that  he 
robbed  from  Ram  Dass  and  yet  other  five 
hundred  because  of  the  great  injury  he  did 
to  your  brother." 

The  well  and  the  jujube-tree  above  it  and 
the  square  of  Tsser  Jang  became  dark  in 
my  eyes,  but  I  leaned  on  my  stick  and  said: 
^'Nav!     This  is  child's  talk  and  senseless. 


64         In  Black  and  White 

It  was  I  who  suffered  at  the  hands  of  the 
landholder,  and  I  am  come  to  make  ready 
the  case..  Where  is  my  brother  Ram 
Dass? " 

But  Jowar  Singh  shook  his  head,  and  a 
woman  cried:  ''What  He  is  here?  What 
quarrel  had  the  landholder  with  you,  bun- 
nia?  It  is  only  a  shameless  one  and  one 
without  faith  who  profits  by  his  brother's 
smarts.     Have  these  bunnias  no  bowels?  " 

I  cried  again,  saying:  "  By  the  Cow  — 
by  the  Oath  of  the  Cow,  by  the  Temple  of 
the  Blue-throated  Mahadeo  —  I  and  I  only 
w^as  beaten  —  beaten  to  the  death!  Let 
our  talk  be  straight,  oh,  people  of  Isser 
Jang,  and  I  will  pay  for  the  witnesses." 
And  I  tottered  where  I  stood,  for  the  sick- 
ness and  the  pain  of  the  beating  were  heavy 
upon  me. 

Then  Ram  Narain,  who  has  his  carpet 
spread  under  the  jujube-tree  by  the  well, 
and  writes  all  letters  for  the  men  of  the 
town,  came  up  and  said :  "  To-day  is  the 
one-and-fortieth  day  since  the  beating,  and 
since  these  six  days  the  case  has  been 
judged  in  the  court,  and  the  assistant  com- 
missioner sahib  has  given  it  for  your 
brother  Ram  Dass,  allowing  the  robbery, 
to  which,  too,  I  bore  witness,  and  all  things 
else  as  the  witnesses  said.  There  were 
many  witnesses,  and  twice  Ram  Dass  be- 
came senseless  in  the  court  because  of  his 


Gemini  65 

wounds,  and  the  Stunt  Sahib  —  the  baba 
Stunt  Sahib  —  gave  him  a  chair  before  all 
the  pleaders.  Why  do  you  howl,  Durga 
Dass?  These  things  fell  as  I  have  said. 
Was  it  not  so?  " 

And  Jowar  Singh  said:  "That  is  truth. 
I  was  there,  and  there  was  a  red  cushion 
in  the  chair." 

And  Ram  Narain  said:  "Great  shame 
has  come  upon  the  landholder  because  of 
this  judgment,  and  fearing  his  anger,  Ram 
Dass  and  all  his  house  have  gone  back  to 
Pali.  Ram  Dass  told  us  that  you  also  had 
gone  first,  the  enmity  being  healed  between 
you,  to  open  a  shop  in  Pali.  Indeed,  it 
were  well  for  you  that  you  go  even  now, 
for  the  landholder  has  sworn  that  if  he 
catch  any  one  of  your  house,  he  will  hang 
him  by  the  heels  from  the  well-beam,  and, 
swinging  him  to  and  fro,  will  beat  him 
with  staves  till  the  blood  runs  from  his  ears. 
What  I  have  said  in  respect  to  the  case  is 
true  as  these  men  here  can  testify  —  even 
to  the  five  hundred  rupees." 

I  said:  "Was  it  five  hundred?"  And 
Kirpa  Ram,  the  jaf,  said:  '*  Five  hundred; 
for  I  bore  witness  also." 

And  I  groaned,  for  it  had  been  in  my 
heart  to  have  said  two  hundred  only. 

Then  a  new  fear  came  upon  me  and  my 
bowels  turned  to  water,  and,  running 
swiftly  to  the  house  of  Ram  Dass,  I  sought 


66         In  Black  and  White 

for  my  books  and  my  money  in  the  great 
wooden  chest  under  my  bedstead.  There 
remained  nothing;  not  even  a  cowrie's 
value.  All  had  been  taken  by  the  devil 
who  said  he  was  my  brother.  I  went  to 
my  own  house  also  and  opened  the  boards 
of  the  shutters;  but  there  also  was  nothing 
save  the  rats  among  the  grain-baskets. 
In  that  hour  my  senses  left  me,  and,  tearing 
my  clothes,  I  ran  to  the  well-place,  crying 
out  for  the  justice  of  the  English  on  my 
brother  Ram  Dass,  and,  in  my  madness, 
telling  all  that  the  books  were  lost.  When 
men  saw  that  I  would  have  jumped  down 
the  well,  they  believed  the  truth  of  my  talk; 
more  especially  because  upon  my  back  and 
bosom  were  still  the  marks  of  the  staves  of 
the  landholder. 

Jowar  Singh  the  carpenter  withstood  me, 
and  turning  me  in  his  hands  —  for  he  is  a 
very  strong  man  —  showed  the  scars  upon 
my  body,  and  bowed  down  with  laughter 
upon  the  well-curb.  He  cried  aloud  so  that 
all  heard  him,  from  the  well-square  to  the 
caravansary  of  the  pilgrims :  "  Oho !  The 
jackals  have  quarreled,  and  the  gray  one 
has  been  caught  in  the  trap.  In  truth,  this 
man  has  been  grievously  beaten,  and  his 
brother  has  taken  the  money  which  the 
court  decreed!  Oh,  bunnia,  this  shall  be 
told  for  years  against  you!  The  jackals 
have  quarreled,  and,  moreover,  the  books 


Gemini  67 

are  burned.  Oh,  people  indebted  to  Durga 
Dass  —  and  I  know  that  ye  be  many  —  the 
books  are  burned!  " 

Then  all  Isser  Jang  took  up  the  cry  that 
the  books  were  burned.  Ahi!  Ahi!  that 
in  my  folly  I  had  let  that  escape  my  mouth 
—  and  they  laughed  throughout  the  city. 
They  gave  me  the  abuse  of  the  Punjabi, 
which  is  a  terrible  abuse  and  very  te::;  pelt- 
ing mc  also  with  sticks  and  cow-dung  till 
I  fell  down  and  cried  for  mercy. 

Ram  Xarain,  the  letter-writer,  bade  the 
people  cease,  for  fear  that  the  news  should 
get  into  ^lontgomery,  and  the  policemen 
might  come  down  to  inquire.  He  said, 
using  many  bad  w^ords :  ''  This  much  mercy 
will  I  do  to  you,  Durga  Dass,  though  there 
was  no  mercy  in  your  dealings  with  my 
sister's  son  over  the  matter  of  the  dun 
heifer.  Has  any  man  a  pony  on  which  he 
sets  no  store,  that  this  fellow  may  escape? 
If  the  landholder  hears  that  one  of  the 
twain  (and  God  knows  whether  he  beat  one 
or  both,  but  this  man  is  certainly  beaten) 
be  in  the  city,  there  will  be  a  murder  done^ 
and  then  will  come  the  police,  making  in- 
quisition into  each  man's  house  and  eating 
the  sweet-seller's  stuff  all  day  long." 

Kirpa  Ram,  the  jat,  said:  "  I  have  a  pony 
very  sick.  But  with  beating  he  can  be 
made  to  walk  for  two  miles.  If  he  dies, 
the  hide-sellers  will  have  the  body." 


68         In  Black  and  White 

Then  Chumbo,  the  hide-seller,  said:  "I 
will  pay  three  annas  for  the  body,  and  will 
walk  by  this  man's  side  till  such  time  as 
the  pony  dies.  If  it  be  more  than  two 
miles,  I  will  pay  two  annas  only." 

Kirpa  Ram  said:  "  Be  it  so."  Men 
brought  out  the  pony,  and  I  asked  leave 
to  draw  a  little  water  from  the  well,  because 
I  was  dried  up  with  fear. 

Then  Ram  Narain  said :  "  Here  be  four 
annas.  God  has  brought  you  very  low, 
Durga  Dass,  and  I  would  not  send  you 
away  empty,  even  though  the  matter  of  my 
sister's  son's  dun  heifer  be  an  open  sore 
between  us.  It  is  a  long  way  to  your  own 
country.  Go,  and  if  it  be  so  willed,  live; 
but,  above  all,  do  not  take  the  pony's 
bridle,  for  that  is  mine." 

And  I  went  out  of  Isser  Jang,  amid  the 
laughing  of  the  huge-thighed  jats,  and  the 
hide-seller  walked  by  my  side  waiting  .for 
the  pony  to  fall  dead.  In  one  mile  it  died, 
and  being  full  of  fear  of  the  landholder,  I 
ran  till  I  could  run  no  more  and  came  to 
this  place. 

But  I  swear  by  the  Cow,  I  swear  by  all 
things  whereon  Hindoos  and  Mussulmans, 
and  even  the  sahibs  swear,  that  I,  and  not 
my  brother,  was  beaten  by  the  landholder. 
But  the  case  is  shut  and  the  doors  of  the 
law  courts  are  shut,  and  God  knows  where 
the  baba  Stunt  Sahib  —  the  mother's  milk 


Gemini  69 

is  not  dry  upon  his  hairless  lip  —  is  gone. 
AJii!  Alii!  I  have  no  witnesses,  and  the 
scars  will  heal,  and  I  am  a  poor  man.  But, 
on  my  father's  soul,  on  the  oath  of  a  Maha- 
jun  from  Pali,  I,  and  not  my  brother,  was 
beaten  by  the  landholder! 

What  can  I  do?  The  justice  of  the  Eng- 
lish is  as  a  great  river.  Having  gone  for- 
ward, it  does  not  return.  Howbeit,  do  you, 
sahib,  take  a  pen  and  write  clearly  what  I 
have  said,  that  the  Dipty  Sahib  may  see, 
and  reprove  the  Stunt  Sahib,  who  is  a  colt 
yet  unlicked  by  the  mare,  so  young  is  he. 
I,  and  not  my  brother,  was  beaten,  and  he 
is  gone  to  the  west  —  I  do  not  know  where. 

But,  above  all  things,  write  —  so  that  sa- 
hibs may  read,  and  his  disgrace  be  accom- 
plished —  that  Ram  Dass,  my  brother,  son 
of  Purun  Dass,  Mahajun  of  Pali,  is  a  swine 
and  a  night-thief,  a  taker  of  life,  an  eater 
of  flesh,  a  jackals-pawn,  without  beauty,  or 
faith,  or  cleanliness,  or  honor! 


AT  TWENTY -TWO 


Narrow  as  the  womb,  deep  as  the  Pit,  and  dark 
as  the  heart  of  a  man. — Sonthal  Miner's  Proverb. 

"  A  WEAVER  went  out  to  reap  but  stayed 
to  unravel  the  corn-stalks.  Ha!  ha!  ha! 
Is  there  any  sense  in  a  weaver?  " 

The  never-ending  tussle  had  recom- 
menced. Janki  ^leah  glared  at  Kundoo, 
btit,  as  Janki  Meah  was  blind,  Ktmdoo  was 
not  impressed.  He  had  come  to  argue  with 
Janki  Meah,  and,  if  chance  favored,  to  make 
love  to  the  old  man's  beautiful  young  wife. 

This  was  Kundoo's  grievance,  and  he 
spoke  in  the  name  of  all  the  five  men  who, 
with  Janki  Meah,  composed  the  gang  in 
No.  7  gallery  of  Twenty-two.  Janki  Meah 
had  been  blind  for  the  thirty  years  during 
which  he  had  served  the  Jimahari  Collier- 
ies with  pick  and  crowbar.  All  through 
those  thirty  years  he  had  regularly,  every 
morning  before  going  down,  drawn  from 
the  overseer  his  allowance  of  lamp-oil  — 
just  as  if  he  had  been  an  eyed  miner. 
What  Kundoo's  gang  resented,  as  hundreds 
70 


At  Twenty-Two  71 

of  gangs  had  resented  before,  was  Janki 
i\Ieah's  selfishness.  He  would  not  add  the 
oil  to  the  common  stock  of  his  gang,  but 
would  save  and  sell  it. 

"  I  knew  these  workings  before  you  were 
born,"  Janki  Meah  used  to  reply:  "  I  don't 
want  the  light  to  get  my  coal  out  by,  and 
I  am  not  going  to  help  you.  The  oil  is 
mine,  and  I  intend  to  keep  it." 

A  strange  man  in  many  ways  was  Janki 
Meah,  the  white-haired,  hot-tempered, 
sightless  weaver  who  had  turned  pitman. 
All  day  long  —  except  on  Sundays  and 
Mondays,  when  he  was  usually  drunk  —  he 
Vv'orked  in  the  Twenty-two  shaft  of  the 
Jimahari  Colliery  as  cleverly  as  a  man  with 
all  the  senses.  At  evening  he  went  up  in 
the  great  steam-hauled  cage  to  the  pit-bank, 
and  there  called  for  his  pony  —  a  rusty, 
coal-dusty  beast,  nearly  as  old  as  Janki 
Aleah.  The  pony  would  come  to  his  side, 
and  Janki  Meah  would  clamber  on  to  its 
back  and  be  taken  at  once  to  the  plot  of 
land  which  he,  like  the  other  miners,  re- 
ceived from  the  Jimahari  company.  The 
pony  knew  that  place,  and  when,  after  six 
years,  the  company  changed  all  the  allot- 
ments to  prevent  the  miners  acquiring  pro- 
prietary rights,  Janki  Meah  represented, 
with  tears  in  his  eyes,  that  were  his  holding 
shifted  he  would  never  be  able  to  find  his 
way   to   the   new   one.      '*  My  horse   only 


72         In  Black  and  White 

knows  that  place,"  pleaded  Janki  ]\Ieah,  and 
so  he  was  allowed  to  keep  his  land. 

On  the  strength  of  this  concession  and 
his  accumulated  oil-savings,  Janki  Meah 
took  a  second  wife  —  a  girl  of  the  Jolaha 
main  stock  of  the  Meahs,  and  singularly 
beautiful.  Janki  Meah  could  not  see  her 
beauty;  wherefore  he  took  her  on  trust,  and 
forbade  her  to  go  down  the  pit.  He  had 
not  worked  for  thirty  years  in  the  dark 
without  knowing  that  the  pit  was  no  place 
for  pretty  women.  He  loaded  her  with 
ornaments  —  not  brass  or  pewter,  but  real 
silver  ones  —  and  she  rewarded  him  by 
flirting  outrageously  with  Kundoo  of  No.  7 
gallery-gang.  Kundoo  was  really  the 
gang  head,  but  Janki  Meah  insisted  upon 
all  the  work  being  entered  in  his  own  name, 
and  chose  the  men  that  he  worked  with. 
Custom  —  stronger  even  than  the  Jima- 
hari  company  —  dictated  that  Janki,  by 
right  of  his  years,  should  manage  these 
things,  and  should  also  work  despite  his 
blindness.  In  Indian  mines  where  they 
cut  into  the  solid  coal  with  the  pick  and 
clear  it  out  from  floor  to  ceiling,  he  could 
come  to  no  great  harm.  At  home,  where 
they  undercut  the  coal,  and  bring  it  down 
in  crashing  avalanches  from  the  roof,  he 
would  never  have  been  allowed  to  set  foot 
in  a  pit.  He  was  not  a  popular  man,  be- 
cause of  his  oil-savings;  but  all  the  gangs 


At  Twenty-Two  73 

admitted  that  Janki  knew  all  the  khads,  or 
workings,  that  had  ever  been  sunk  or 
worked  since  the  Jimahari  company  first 
started  operations  on  the  Tarachunda 
fields. 

Pretty  little  Unda  only  knew  that  her 
old  husband  was  a  fool  who  could  be  man- 
aged. She  took  no  interest  in  the  collieries 
except  in  so  far  as  they  swallowed  up  Kun- 
doo  five  days  out  of  the  seven,  and  covered 
him  with  coal-dust.  Kundoo  was  a  great 
workman,  and  did  his  best  not  to  get 
drunk,  because,  when  he  had  saved  forty 
rupees,  Unda  was  to  steal  everything  that 
she  could  find  in  Janki's  house  and  run 
wdth  Kundoo  ''  over  the  hills  and  far 
away  "  to  countries  where  there  were  no 
mines,  and  every  one  kept  three  fat  bul- 
locks and  a  milch-buffalo.  While  this 
scheme  was  maturing  it  was  his  amiable 
custom  to  drop  in  upon  Janki  and  worry 
him  about  the  oil-savings.  Unda  sat  in 
a  corner  and  nodded  approval.  On  the 
night  when  Kundoo  had  quoted  that  objec- 
tionable proverb  about  weavers,  Janki  grew 
angry. 

"  Listen,  you  pig,"  said  he,  "  blind  I 
am,  and  old  I  am,  but,  before  ever  you  were 
born,  I  was  gray  among  the  coal.  Even 
in  the  days  when  the  Twenty-two  khad  was 
unsunk  and  there  were  not  two  thousand 
men  here,  I  was  known  to  have  all  knowl- 


74         Ii"^  Black  and  White 

edge  of  the  pits.  What  Jxliad  is  there  that 
I  do  not  know,  from  the  bottom  of  the  shaft 
to  the  end  of  the  last  drive?  Is  it  the 
Baromba  kJiad,  the  oldest,  or  the  Twenty- 
two  where  Tibu's  gallery  runs  up  to 
Number  5?  " 

'*  Hear  the  old  fool  talk  "  said  Kundoo, 
nodding  to  IJnda.  "  No  gallery  of 
Twenty-two  will  cut  into  five  before  the 
end  of  the  rains.  We  have  a  month's  solid 
coal  before  us.     The  Babuji  says  so." 

''Babuji!  Pigji!  l)ogji !  What  do 
these  fat  slugs  from  Calcutta  know?  He 
draws  and  draws  and  draws,  and  talks  and 
talks  and  talks,  and  his  maps  are  all  wrong. 
I,  Janki,  know  that  this  is  so.  When  a 
man  has  been  shut  up  in  the  dark  for 
thirty  years,  God  gives  him  knowledge. 
The  old  gallery  that  Tibu's  gang  made  is 
not  six  feet  from  Number  5." 

"  Without  doubt  God  gives  the  blind 
knowledge,"  said  Kundoo,  with  a  look  at 
Unda.  ''  Let  it  be  as  you  say.  I,  for  my 
part,  do  not  know  where  lies  the  gallery 
of  Tibu's  gang,  but  I  am  not  a  withered 
monkey  who  needs  oil  to  grease  his  joints 
with." 

Kundoo  swung  out  of  the  hut  laughing, 
and  L"nda  giggled.  Janki  turned  his  sight- 
less eyes  toward  his  wife  and  swore.  ''  I 
have  land,  and  I  have  sold  a  great  deal  of 


At  Twenty-Two  y^ 

lamp-oil,"  mused  Janki ;  "  but  I  was  a  fool 
to  marry  this  child." 

A  week  later  the  rains  set  in  with  a  ven- 
geance, and  the  gangs  paddled  about  in 
coal-slush  at  the  pit-banks.  Then  the  big 
mine-pumps  were  made  ready,  and  the  man- 
ager of  the  colliery  plowed  through  the  wet 
toward  the  Tarachunda  River  swelling  be- 
tween its  soppy  banks.  ''  Lord,  send  that 
this  beastly  beck  doesn't  misbehave,"  said 
the  manager,  piously,  and  he  went  and  took 
counsel  with  his  assistant  about  the  pumps. 

But  the  Tarachunda  misbehaved  very 
much  indeed.  After  a  fall  of  three  inches 
of  rain  in  an  hour  it  was  obliged  to  do 
something.  It  topped  its  bank  and  joined 
the  flood-water  that  was  hemmed  between 
two  low  hills  just  where  the  embankmicnt 
of  the  colliery  main  line  crossed.  When 
a  good  part  of  a  rain-fed  river,  and  a  few 
acres  of  flood-water,  make  a  dead  set  for 
a  nine-foot  culvert,  the  culvert  may  spout 
its  finest,  but  the  water  can  not  all  get  out. 
The  manager  pranced  upon  one  leg  with 
excitement,  and  his  language  was  improper. 

He  had  reason  to  swear,  because  he 
knew  that  one  inch  of  water  on  land  meant 
a  pressure  of  one  hundred  tons  to  the  acre ; 
and  here  were  about  five  feet  of  water 
forming,  behind  the  railway  embankment, 
over  the  shallower  workings  of  Twenty- 
two.     You  must  understand  that,  in  a  coal- 


76         In  Black  and  White 

mine,  the  coal  nearest  the  surface  is  worked 
first  from  the  central  shaft.  That  is  to  say, 
the  miners  may  clear  out  the  stuff  to  within 
ten,  twenty,  or  thirty  feet,  of  the  surface, 
and,  when  all  is  worked  out,  leave  only  a 
skin  of  earth  upheld  by  some  few  pillars 
of  coal.  In  a  deep  mine  where  they  know 
that  they  have  any  amount  of  material  at 
hand,  men  prefer  to  get  all  their  mineral 
out  at  one  shaft,  rather  than  make  a  num- 
ber of  little  holes  to  tap  the  comparatively 
unimportant  surface  coal. 

And  the  manager  watched  the  flood. 
The  culvert  spouted  a  nine-foot  gush; 
but  the  water  still  formed,  and  word  was 
sent  to  clear  the  men  out  of  Twenty-two. 
The  cages  came  up  crammed  and  crammed 
again  with  the  men  nearest  the  pit-eye,  as 
they  call  the  place  where  you  can  see  day- 
light from  the  bottom  of  the  main  shaft. 
All  away  and  away,  up  the  long  black  gal- 
leries the  flare-lamps  were  winking  and 
dancing  like  so  many  fire-flies,  and  the  men 
and  the  women  waited  for  the  clanking, 
rattling,  thundering  cages  to  come  down 
and  fly  up  again.  But  the  out-workings 
were  very  far  off,  and  the  word  could  not 
be  passed  quickly,  though  the  heads  of  the 
gangs  and  the  assistant  shouted  and  swore 
and  tramped  and  stumbled.  The  manager 
kept  one  eye  on  the  great  troubled  pool 
behind  the  embankment,  and  prayed  that 


At  Twenty-Two  jj 

the  culvert  would  give  way  and  let  the 
water  through  in  time.  With  the  other  eye 
he  watched  the  cages  come  up  and  saw 
the  headmen  counting  the  roll  of  the 
gangs.  With  all  his  heart  and  soul  he 
swore  at  the  winder  who  controlled  the 
iron  drum  that  wound  up  the  wire  rope  on 
which  hung  the  cages. 

In  a  little  time  there  was  a  down-draw 
in  the  water  behind  the  embankment  —  a 
sucking  whirlpool,  all  yellow  and  yeasty. 
The  water  had  smashed  through  the  skin 
of  the  earth  and  was  poring  into  the  old 
shallow  workings  of  Twenty-two. 

Deep  down  below,  a  rush  of  black  water 
caught  the  last  gang  waiting  for  the  cage, 
and  as  they  clambered  in,  the  whirl  was 
about  their  waists.  The  cage  reached  the 
pit-bank,  and  the  manager  called  the  roll. 
The  gangs  were  all  safe  except  Gang  Janki, 
Gang  Mogul,  and  Gang  Rahim,  eighteen 
men,  with  perhaps  ten  basket-women  who 
loaded  the  coal  into  the  little  iron  carriages 
that  ran  on  the  tramways  of  the  main  gal- 
leries. These  gangs  were  in  the  out-work- 
ings, three  quarters  of  a  mile  away,  on  the 
extreme  fringe  of  the  mine.  Once  more 
the  cage  went  down,  but  w^th  only  two 
Englishmen  in  it,  and  dropped  into  a 
swirling,  roaring  current  that  had  almost 
touched  the  roof  of  some  of  the  lower  side- 
galleries.     One  of  the  wooden  balks  with 


78         In  Black  and  White 

which  they  had  propped  the  old  workings 
shot  past  on  the  current,  just  missnig-  the 
cage. 

''  If  we  don't  want  our  ribs  knocked  out, 
we'd  better  go,"  said  the  manager.  "  We 
can't  even  save  the  company's  props." 

The  cage  drew  out  of  the  water  with  a 
splash,  and  a  few  minutes  later,  it  was  offi- 
cially reported  that  there  were  at  least  ten 
feet  of  water  in  the  pit's-eye.  Now  ten  feet 
of  water  there  meant  that  all  other  places 
in  the  mine  were  flooded  except  such  gal- 
leries as  were  more  than  ten  feet  above  the 
level  of  the  bottom  of  the  shaft.  The  deep 
workings  would  be  full,  the  main  galleries 
would  be  full,  but  in  the  high  workings 
reached  by  inclines  from  the  main  roads, 
there  would  be  a  certain  amount  of  air  cut 
off,  so  to  speak,  by  the  water  and  squeezed 
up  by  it.  The  little  science-primers  explain 
how  water  behaves  when  you  pour  it  down 
test-tubes.  The  flooding  of  Twenty-two 
was  an  illustration  on  a  larsre  scale. 


"  By  the  Holy  Grove,  what  has  happened 
to  the  air?  It  was  a  Sonthal  gangman  of 
Gang  Mogul  in  No.  9  gallery,  and  he  was 
driving  a  six-foot  way  through  the  coal. 
Then  there  was  a  rush  from  the  other  gal- 
leries, and  Gang  Janki  and  Gang  Rahim 
stumbled  up  with  their  basket-women. 


At  Twenty-Two  79 

"  Water  has  come  in  the  mine,"  they  said, 
"  and  there  is  no  way  of  getting  out." 

"  I  went  dow^n,"  said  Janki  — "  down  the 
slope  of  my  gallery,  and  I  felt  the  water." 

"  There  has  been  no  water  in  the  cutting 
in  our  time,"  clamored  the  women.  "  Why 
can  not  we  go  away?  " 

"  Be  silent,"  said  Janki;  "  long  ago,  when 
my  father  was  here,  water  came  to  Ten  — 
no.  Eleven  —  cutting,  and  there  was  great 
trouble.  Let  us  get  away  to  where  the  air 
is  better." 

The  three  gangs  and  the  basket-women 
left  No.  9  gallery  and  went  further  up  No. 
16.  At  one  turn  of  the  road  they  could  see 
the  pitchy  black  water  lapping  cm  the  coal. 
It  had  touched  the  roof  of  a  gallery  that 
they  knew  well  —  a  gallery  where  they  used 
to  smoke  their  htiqas  and  conduct  their 
flirtations.  Seeing  this,  they  called  aloud 
upon  their  gods,  and  the  Meahs,  who  are 
thrice  bastard  Mohammedans,  strove  to  rec- 
ollect the  name  of  the  Prophet.  They  came 
to  a  great  open  square  whence  nearly  all 
the  coal  had  been  extracted.  It  was  the 
end  of  the  out-w^orkings,  and  the  end  of  the 
mine. 

Far  away  down  the  gallery  a  small  pump- 
ing-engine,  used  for  keeping  dry  a  deep 
working  and  fed  with  steam  from  above, 
was  faithfully  throbbing.  They  heard  it 
cease. 


8o         In  Black  and  White 

"  They  have  cut  off  the  steam,"  said  Kiin- 
doo,  hopefully.  "  They  r.ave  given  the  or- 
der to  use  all  the  steam  for  the  pit-bank 
pumps.     They  will  clear  out  the  water." 

''  If  the  water  has  reached  the  smoking- 
gallery,"  said  Janki,  *'  all  the  company's 
pumps  can  do  nothing  for  three  days." 

"  It  is  very  hot,"  moaned  Jasoda,  the 
Meah  basket-woman.  '*  There  is  a  very 
bad  air  here  because  of  the  lamps." 

"  Put  them  out,"  said  Janki ;  "  why  do  you 
want  lamps?"  The  lamps  were  put  out 
amid  protests,  and  the  company  sat  still  in 
the  utter  dark.  Somebody  rose  quietly  and 
began  walking  over  the  coals.  It  was 
Janki,  who  was  touching  the  walls  with  his 
hands.  "Where  is  the  ledge?"  he  mur- 
mured to  himself. 

"  Sit,  sit!  "  said  Kundoo.  *'  If  we  die,  we 
die.     The  air  is  very  bad." 

But  Janki  still  stumbled  and  crept  and 
tapped  with  his  pick  upon  the  walls.  The 
women  rose  to  their  feet. 

"  Stay  all  where  you  are.  Without  the 
lamps  you  can  not  see,  and  I  —  I  am  always 
seeing,"  said  Janki.  Then  he  paused,  and 
called  out:  "  Oh,  you  who  have  been  in  the 
cutting  more  than  ten  years,  what  is  the 
name  of  this  open  place?  I  am  an  old  man 
and  I   have  forgotten." 

"  Bullia's  Room,"  answered  the  Sonthal 


At  Twenty-Two  8i 

who  had  complained  of  the  vileness  of  the 
air. 

'*  Again,"  said  Janki. 

"Bullia's  Room." 

"  Then  I  have  found  it,"  said  Janki. 
"  The  name  only  had  slipped  my  memory. 
Tibu's  gang's  gallery  is  here." 

"  A  lie,"  said  Kundoo.  "  There  have 
been  no  galleries  in  this  place  since  my 
day." 

"  Three  paces  was  the  depth  of  the  ledge," 
muttered  Janki  without  heeding  — "  and  — 
oh,  my  poor  bones!  —  I  have  found  it!  It 
is  here,  up  this  ledge.  Come  all  you,  one 
by  one,  to  the  place  of  my  voice,  and  I  will 
count  you." 

There  was  a  rush  in  the  dark,  and  Janki 
felt  the  first  man's  face  hit  his  knees  as  the 
Sonthal  scrambled  up  the  ledge. 

"Who?"  cried  Jaki. 

"  I,  Sunua  Manji." 

"  Sit  you  down,"  said  Janki.  "  Who 
next?  " 

One  by  one  the  women  and  the  men 
crawled  up  the  ledge  which  ran  along  one 
side  of  "Bullia's  Room."  Degraded  Mo- 
hammedan, pig-eating  Musahr  and  wild 
Sonthal,  Janki  ran  his  hand  over  them  all. 

"  Now  follow  after,"  said  he,  "  catching 
hold  of  my  heel,  and  the  women  catching 
the  men's  clothes."  He  did  not  ask 
whether  the  men  had  brought  their  picks 


82         In  Black  and  White 

with  them.  A  miner,  black  or  white,  does 
not  drop  his  pick.  One  by  one,  Janki  lead- 
ing, they  crept  into  the  old  gallery  —  a  six- 
foot  way  with  a  scant  four  feet  from  thill 
to  roof. 

"  The  air  is  better  here,"  said  Jasoda. 
They  could  hear  her  heart  beating  in  thick, 
sick  bumps. 

"  Slowly,  slowly,"  said  Janki.  "  I  am  an 
old  man,  and  I  forget  many  things.  This 
is  Tibu's  gallery,  but  where  are  the  four 
bricks  where  they  used  to  put  their  huqa 
hre  on  when  the  sahibs  never  saw?  Slowly, 
slowly,  oh,  you  people  behind." 

They  heard  his  hands  disturbing  the 
small  coal  on  the  floor  of  the  gallery  and 
then  a  dull  sound.  "  This  is  one  unbaked 
brick,  and  this  is  another  and  another. 
Kundoo  is  a  young  man  —  let  him  come 
forward.  Put  a  knee  upon  this  brick  and 
strike  here.  When  Tibu's  gang  were  at 
dinner  on  the  last  day  before  the  good  coal 
ended,  they  heard  the  men  of  Five  on  the 
other  side,  and  Five  worked  their  gallery 
two  Sundays  later  —  or  it  may  have  been 
one.  Strike  there,  Kundoo,  but  give  me 
room  to  go  back." 

Kundoo,  doubting,  drove  the  pick,  but 
the  first  soft  crush  of  the  coal  was  a  call  to 
him.  He  was  fighting  for  his  life  and  for 
Unda  —  pretty  little  Unda  with  the  rings 
on  all  her  toes  —  for  Unda  and  the  forty 


At  Twenty-Two  83 

rupees.  The  woman  sung  the  "  Song  of 
the  Pick  " —  the  terrible,  slow,  swinging 
melody  with  the  muttered  chorus  that  re- 
peats the  sliding  of  the  loosened  coal,  and, 
to  each  cadence,  Kundoo  smote  in  the  black 
dark.  When  he  could  do  no  more,  Sunua 
INIanji  took  the  pick,  and  struck  for  his  life 
and  his  wife,  and  his  village  beyond  the 
blue  hills  over  the  Tarachunda  River.  An 
hour  the  men  worked,  and  then  the  women 
cleared  away  the  coal. 

"  It  is  further  than  I  thought,"  said  Janki. 
"  The  air  is  very  bad ;  but  strike,  Kundoo, 
strike  hard." 

For  the  fifth  time  Kundoo  took  up  the 
pick  as  the  Sonthal  crawled  back.  The 
song  had  scarcely  recommenced  when  it 
was  broken  by  a  yell  from  Kundoo  that 
echoed  down  the  gallery:  "Far  Jma! 
Par  hua!  We  are  through,  we  are 
through !  "  The  imprisoned  air  in  the  mine 
shot  through  the  opening,  and  the  women 
at  the  far  end  of  the  gallery  heard  the 
w^ater  rush  through  the  pillars  of  "  Bullia's 
Room  "  and  roar  against  the  ledge.  Hav- 
ing fulfilled  the  law  under  which  it  worked, 
it  rose  no  further.  The  women  screamed 
and  pressed  forward.  "  The  water  has 
come  —  we  shall  be  killed!     Let  us  go." 

Kundoo  crawled  through  the  gap  and 
found  himself  in  a  propped  gallery  by  the 


84 


In  Black  and  White 


simple  process  of  hitting  his  head  against 
a  beam. 

"Do  I  know  the  pits  or  do  I  not?" 
chuckled  Janki.  "  This  is  the  Number 
Five;  go  you  out  slowly,  giving  me  your 
names.  Ho!  Rahim,  count  your  gang! 
Now  let  us  go  forward,  each  catching  hold 
of  the  other  as  before." 

They  formed  a  line  in  the  darkness  and 
Janki  led  them  —  for  a  pitman  in  a  strange 
pit  is  only  one  degree  less  liable  to  err  than 
an  ordinary  mortal  underground  for  the 
first  time.  At  last  they  saw  a  flare-lamp, 
and  Gangs  Janki,  Mogul  and  Rahim  of 
Twenty-two  stumbled  dazed  into  the  glare 
of  the  draught-furnace  at  the  bottom  of 
Five:  Janki  feeling  his  way  and  the  rest 
behind. 

"  Water  has  come  into  Twenty-two. 
God  knows  where  are  the  others.  I  have 
brought  these  men  from  Tibu's  gallery  in 
our  cutting:  making  connection  through 
the  north  side  of  the  gallery.  Take  us  to 
the  cage,"  said  Janki  Meah. 


At  the  pit-bank  of  Twenty-two,  some 
thousand  people  clamored  and  wept  and 
shouted.  One  hundred  men  —  one  thou- 
sand men  —  had  been  drowned  in  the  cut- 
ting. They  would  all  go  to  their  homes 
to-morrow.     Where  were  their  men?     Lit- 


At  Twenty-Two  85 

tie  Unda,  her  scarf  drenched  with  the  rain, 
stood  at  the  pit-mouth  calHng  down  the 
shaft  for  Kundoo.  They  had  swung  the 
cages  clear  of  the  mouth,  and  her  only 
answer  was  the  murmur  of  the  flood  in  the 
pits-eye  two  hundred  and  sixty  feet  below. 

''Look  after  that  woman!  She'll  chuck 
herself  down  the  shaft  in  a  minute," 
shouted  the  manager. 

But  he  need  not  have  troubled;  Unda 
was  afraid  of  death.  She  wanted  Kundoo. 
The  assistant  was  watching  the  flood  and 
seeing  how  far  he  could  wade  into  it. 
There  was  a  lull  in  the  water,  and  the 
whirlpool  had  slackened.  The  mine  was 
full,  and  the  people  at  the  pit-bank  howled. 

"  My  faith,  we  shall  be  lucky  if  we  have 
five  hundred  hands  in  the  place  to-mor- 
row!''  said  the  manager.  ''There's  some 
chance  yet  of  running  a  temporary  dam 
across  that  water.  Shove  in  anything  — 
tubs  and  bullock-carts  if  you  haven't 
enough  bricks.  Make  them  work  now  if 
they  never  worked  before.  Hi!  you  gang- 
ers, make  them  work." 

Little  by  little  the  crowd  was  broken  into 
detachments,  and  pushed  toward  the  water 
with  promises  of  overtime.  The  dam- 
making  began,  and  when  it  was  fairly  un- 
der way,  the  manager  thought  that  the 
hour  had  come  for  the  pumps.  There  was 
no  fresh  inrush  into  the  mine.     The  tall, 


86         In  Black  and  White 

red,  Iron-clamped  pump-bear.i  rose  and  fell, 
and  the  pumps  snored  and  fluttered  and 
shrieked  as  the  first  water  poured  out  of 
the  pipe. 

'*  We  must  run  her  all  to-night,"  said  the 
manager,  wearily,  *'  but  there's  no  hope  for 
the  poor  devils  down  below.  Look  here, 
Gur  Sahai,  if  you  are  proud  of  your  en- 
gines, show  me  what  they  can  do  now." 

Gur  Sahai  grimied  and  nodded,  with  his 
right  hand  upon  the  lever  and  an  oil-can 
in  his  left.  He  could  do  no  more  than  he 
was  doing,  but  he  could  keep  that  up  till 
the  dawn.  Were  the  company's  pumps  to 
be  beaten  by  the  vagaries  of  that  trouble- 
some Tarachunda  River?  Never,  never! 
And  the  pumps  sobbed  and  panted: 
''  Never,  never!  "  The  manager  sat  in  the 
shelter  of  the  pit-bank  roofing,  trying  to 
dry  himself  by  the  pump-boiler  fire,  and,  in 
the  dreary  dusk,  he  saw  the  crowds  on  the 
dam  scatter  and  fly. 

''  That's  the  end,"  he  groaned.  *'  'Twill 
take  us  six  weeks  to  persuade  'em  that  we 
haven't  tried  to  drown  their  mates  on  pur- 
pose.    Oh,  for  a  decent,  rational  Geordie!  " 

But  the  flight  had  no  panic  in  it.  Men 
had  run  over  from  Five  with  astounding 
news,  and  the  foremen  could  not  hold  their 
gangs  together.  Presently,  surrounded  by 
a  clamorous  crew.  Gangs  Rahim,  Mogul, 
and  Janki,  and  ten  basket-women,  walked 


At  Twenty-Two  87 

up  to  report  themselves,  and  pretty  little 
Unda  stole  away  to  Janki's  hut  to  prepare 
his  evening  meal. 

"  Alone  I  found  the  way,"  explained 
Janki  Meah,  ''  and  now  will  the  company 
give  me  pension?  " 

The  simple  pit-folk  shouted  and  leaped 
and  went  back  to  the  dam,  reassured  in 
their  old  belief  that,  whatever  happened,  so 
great  was  the  power  of  the  company  whose 
salt  they  eat,  none  of  them  could  be  killed. 
But  Gur  Sahai  only  bared  his  white  teeth 
and  kept  his  hand  upon  the  lever  and 
proved  his  pumps  to  the  uttermost. 

^  jjc  ^  ^  ^  >|< 

"  I  say,"  said  the  assistant  to  the  man- 
ager, a  week  later,  ''  do  you  recollect 
^Germinal'?" 

"  Yes.  Queer  thing.  I  thought  of  it  in 
the  cage  when  that  balk  went  by.     Why?  " 

"  Oh,  this  business  seems  to  be  '  Ger- 
minal '  upside  down.  Janki  was  in  my 
veranda  all  this  morning,  telling  me  that 
Kundoo  had  eloped  with  his  wife  —  Unda 
or  Anda,  I  think  her  name  was." 

''Halloo!  And  those  were  the  cattle 
that  you  risked  your  life  to  clear  out  of 
Twenty-two !  " 

"  No  —  I  was  thinking  of  the  company's 
props,  not  the  company's  men." 

"Sounds  better  to  say  so  now;  but  I 
don't  believe  vou,  old  fellow." 


IN  FLOOD  TIME 


Tweed  said  tae  Till:  — 
••  What  gars  ye  rin  sae  still?" 

Till  said  tae  Tweed:  — 
"  Though  ye  rin  wi'  speed 
And  I  rin  slaw  — 
Yet  where  ye  droon  ae  man 
I  droon  twa." 

There  is  no  getting  over  the  river  to- 
night, sahib.  They  say  that  a  bullock-cart 
has  been  washed  down  already,  and  the 
ckka  that  went  over  half  an  hour  before 
you  came  has  not  yet  reached  the  far  side. 
Is  the  sahib  in  haste?  I  will  drive  the  ford- 
elephant  in  to  show  him.  Ohc,  mahout 
there  in  the  shed!  Bring  out  Ram  Per- 
shad,  and  if  he  will  face  the  current,  good. 
An  elephant  never  lies,  sahib,  and  Ram 
Pershad  is  separated  from  his  friend  Kala 
Nag.  He,  too,  wishes  to  cross  to  the  far 
side.  Well  done!  Well  done!  my  king! 
Go  half-way  across,  mahout ji  and  see  what 
the  river  says.  Well  done.  Ram  Pershad! 
Pearl  among  elephants,  go  into  the  river! 
Hit  him  on  the  head,  fool !     Was  the  goad 

88 


In  Flood  Time  89 

made  only  to  scratch  thy  own  fat  back  with, 
bastard?  Strike!  Strike!  What  are  the 
bowlders  to  thee,  Ram  Pershad,  my  Rus- 
tum,  my  mountain  of  strength?  Go  in! 
Go  in! 

No,  sahib!  It  is  useless.  You  can  hear 
him  trumpet.  He  is  telling  Kala  Nag  that 
he  can  not  come  over.  See!  He  has 
swung  round  and  is  shaking  his  head.  He 
is  no  fool.  He  knows  what  the  Barhwi 
means  when  it  is  angry.  Aha!  Indeed, 
thou  art  no  fool,  my  child!  Salam,  Ram 
Pershad,  Bahadur!  Take  him  under  the 
trees,  mahout,  and  see  that  he  gets  his 
spices.  Well  done,  thou  chiefest  among 
tuskers.  Salam  to  the  sirkar  and  go  to 
sleep. 

What  is  to  be  done?  The  sahib  must 
wait  till  the  river  goes  down.  It  will 
shrink  to-morrow  morning,  if  God  pleases, 
or  the  day  after  at  the  latest.  Now  why 
does  the  sahib  get  so  angry?  I  am  his 
servant.  Before  God,  I  did  not  create  this 
stream!  What  can  I  do?  My  hut  and  all 
that  is  therein  is  at  the  service  of  the  sahib, 
and  it  is  beginning  to  rain.  Come  away, 
my  lord.  How  will  the  river  go  down  for 
your  throwing  abuse  at  it?  In  the  old 
days  the  English  people  were  not  thus. 
The  fire-carriage  has  made  them  soft.  In 
the  old  days,  when  they  drove  behind 
horses  by  day  or  by  night,  they  said  naught 


90         In  Black  and  White 

if  a  river  barred  the  way  or  a  carriage  sat 
down  in  the  mud.  It  was  the  will  of  God 
—  not  like  a  fire-carriage  which  goes  and 
goes  and  goes,  and  would  go  though  all  the 
devils  in  the  land  hung  on  to  its  tail.  The 
fire-carriage  hath  spoiled  the  English  peo- 
ple. After  all,  what  is  a  day  lost,  or,  for 
that  matter,  what  are  two  days?  Is  the 
sahib  going  to  his  own  wedding,  that  he  is 
so  mad  with  haste?  Ho!  Ho!  Ho!  I 
am  an  old  man  and  see  few  sahibs.  For- 
give me  if  I  have  forgotten  the  respect  that 
is  due  to  them.     The  sahib  is  not  angry? 

His  own  wedding!  Ho!  Ho!  Ho! 
The  mind  of  an  old  man  is  like  the  numah- 
tree.  Fruit,  bud,  blossom,  and  the  dead 
leaves  of  all  the  years  of  the  past  flourish 
together.  Old  and  new  and  that  which  is 
gone  out  of  remiembrance,  all  three  are 
there!  Sit  on  the  bedstead,  sahib,  and 
drink  milk.  Or  —  w^ould  the  sahib  in 
truth  care  to  drink  my  tobacco?  It  is 
good.  It  is  the  tobacco  of  Nuklao.  My 
son,  who  is  in  service  there,  sent  it  to  me. 
Drink,  then,  sahib,  if  you  know  how  to 
handle  the  tube.  The  sahib  takes  it  like  a 
]\Iussulman.  Wah!  Wah!  Where  did 
he  learn  that?  His  own  wedding!  Ho! 
Ho!  Ho!  The  sahib  says  that  there  is 
no  wadding  in  the  matter  at  all?  Now  is 
it  likely  that  the  sahib  would  speak  true 
talk   to   me  who   am   only   a  black   man? 


In  Flood  Time  91 

Small  wonder,  then,  that  he  is  in  haste. 
Thirty  years  have  I  beaten  the  gong  at  this 
ford,  but  never  have  I  seen  a  sahib  in  snch 
haste.  Thirty  years,  sahib !  That  is  a  very 
long  time.  Thirty  years  ago  this  ford  was 
on  the  track  of  the  bunjaras,  and  I  have 
seen  two  thousand  pack-bullocks  cross  in 
one  night.  Now  the  rail  has  come,  and 
the  fire-carriage  says  ''  buz-buz-buz,"  and 
a  hundred  lakhs  of  maunds  slide  across 
that  big  bridge.  It  is  very  wonderful;  but 
the  ford  is  lonely  now  that  there  are  no 
bunjaras  to  camp  under  the  trees. 

Nay,  do  not  trouble  to  look  at  the  sky 
without.  It  will  rain  till  the  dawn.  Lis- 
ten! The  bowlders  are  talking  to-night  in 
the  bed  of  the  river.  Hear  them!  They 
would  be  husking  your  bones,  sahib,  had 
you  tried  to  cross.  See,  I  will  shut  the 
door  and  no  rain  can  enter.  Wahi!  Ahi! 
Ugh!  Thirty  years  on  the  banks  of  the 
ford !  An  old  man  am  I  and  —  where  is 
the  oil  for  the  lamp? 


Your  pardon,  but,  because  of  my  years, 
I  sleep  no  sounder  than  a  dog;  and  you 
moved  to  the  door.  Look  then,  sahib. 
Look  and  listen.  A  full  half  kos  from  bank 
to  bank  is  the  stream  now  —  you  can  see 
it  under  the  stars  —  and  there  are  ten  feet 
of  water  therein.     It  will  not   shrink  be- 


92         In  Black  and  White 

cause  of  the  anger  in  your  eyes,  and  it  will 
not  be  quiet  on  account  of  your  curses. 
Which  is  louder,  sahib  —  your  voice  or  the 
voice  of  the  river?  Call  to  it  —  perhaps  it 
will  be  ashamed.  Lie  down  and  sleep 
afresh,  sahib.  I  know  the  anger  of  the 
Barhwi  when  there  has  fallen  rain  in  the 
foot-hills.  I  swam  the  flood  once,  on  a 
night  tenfold  worse  than  this,  and  by  the 
favor  of  God  I  was  released  from  death 
when  I  had  come  to  the  very  gates  thereof. 

May  I  tell  the  tale?  Very  good  talk. 
I  will  fill  the  pipe  anew. 

Thirty  years  ago  it  was,  when  I  was  a 
young  man  and  had  but  newly  come  to  the 
ford.  I  was  strong  then,  and  the  bimjaras 
had  no  doubt  when  I  said  "  this  ford  is 
clear."  I  have  toiled  all  night  up  to  my 
shoulder-blades  in  running  water  amid  a 
hundred  bullocks  mad  with  fear,  and  have 
brought  them  across  losing  not  a  hoof. 
When  all  was  done  I  fetched  the  shivering 
men,  and  they  gave  me  for  reward  the  pick 
of  their  cattle  —  the  bell-bullock  of  the 
drove.  So  great  was  the  honor  in  which 
I  was  held!  But  to-day  when  the  rain 
falls  and  the  river  rises  I  creep  into  my  hut 
and  whimper  like  a  dog.  The  strength  is 
gone  from  me.  I  am  an  old  man  and  the 
fire-carriage  has  made  the  ford  desolate. 
They  were  wont  to  call  me  the  Strong  One 
of  the  Barhwi. 


In  Flood  Time  93 

Behold  my  face,  sahib.  It  is  the  face  of 
a  monkey.  And  my  arm.  It  is  the  arm 
of  an  old  woman.  I  swear  to  you,  sahib, 
that  a  woman  has  loved  this  face  and  has 
rested  in  the  hollow  of  this  arm.  Twenty 
years  ago,  sahib.  Believe  me,  this  was 
true  talk  —  twenty  years  ago. 

Come  to  the  door  and  look  across.  Can 
you  see  a  thin  fire  very  far  away  down  the 
stream?  That  is  the  temple-fire,  in  the 
shrine  of  Hanuman,  of  the  village  of 
Pateera.  North,  under  the  big  star,  is  the 
village  itself,  but  it  is  hidden  by  a  bend  of 
the  river.  Is  that  far  to  swim,  sahib? 
Would  you  take  off  your  clothes  and  ad- 
venture? Yet  I  swam  to  Pateera  —  not 
once  but  many  times;  and  there  are  mug- 
gers in  the  river  too. 

Love  knows  no  caste;  else  why  should 
I,  a  Mussulman  and  the  son  of  a  Mussul- 
man, have  sought  a  Hindoo  woman  —  a 
widow  of  the  Hindoos  —  the  sister  of  the 
headman  of  Pateera?  But  it  was  even  so. 
They  of  the  headman's  household  came  on 
a  pilgrimage  to  Muttra  when  she  was  but 
newly  a  bride.  Silver  tires  were  upon  the 
wheels  of  the  bullock-cart,  and  silken  cur- 
tains hid  the  woman.  Sahib,  I  made  no 
haste  in  their  conveyance,  for  the  wind 
parted  the  curtains  and  I  saw  her.  When 
they  returned  from  pilgrimage  the  boy  that 
was  her  husband  had  died,  and  I  saw  her 


94  In  Black  and  White 

again  in  the  bullock-cart.  By  God,  these 
Hmdoos  are  fools!  What  was  it  to  me 
whether  she  was  Hindoo  or  Jain  —  scav- 
enger, leper  or  whole?  I  would  have  mar- 
ried her  and  made  her  a  home  by  the  ford. 
The  seventh  of  the  nine  bars  says  that  a 
man  may  not  marry  one  of  the  idolaters. 
Is  that  truth?  Both  Shiahs  and  Sunnis  say 
that  a  Mussulman  may  not  marry  one  of 
the  idolaters?  Is  the  sahib  a  priest,  then, 
that  he  knows  so  much?  I  will  tell  him 
something  that  he  does  not  know.  There 
is  neither  Shiah  nor  Sunni,  forbidden  nor 
idolater,  in  love;  and  the  nine  bars  are  but 
nine  little  fagots  that  the  flame  of  love 
utterly  burns  away.  In  truth,  I  would 
have  taken  her;  but  what  could  I  do?  The 
headman  would  have  sent  his  men  to  break 
my  head  with  staves.  I  am  not  —  I  was 
not  — afraid  of  any  five  men;  but  against 
half  a  village  who  can  prevail? 

Therefore  it  was  my  custom,  these 
things  having  been  arranged  between  us 
twain,  to  go  by  night  to  the  village  of 
Pateera,  and  there  we  met  among  the 
crops;  no  man  knowing  aught  of  the  mat- 
ter. Behold,  now!  I  was  wont  to  cross 
here,  skirting  the  jungle  to  the  river  bend 
where  the  railway  bridge  is,  and  thence 
across  the  elbow  of  land  to  Pateera.  The 
light  of  the  shrine  was  my  guide  when  the 
nights  were  dark.     That  jungle  near  the 


In  Flood  Time  95 

river  is  very  full  of  snakes  —  little  karaits 
that  sleep  on  the  sand  —  and  moreover,  her 
brothers  would  have  slain  me  had  they 
found  m.e  in  the  crops.  But  none  knew  — 
none  knew  save  she  and  I;  and  the  blown 
sand  of  the  river  bed  covered  the  track  of 
my  feet.  In  the  hot  months  it  was  an  easy 
thing  to  pass  from  the  ford  to  Pateera,  and 
in  the  first  rains,  when  the  river  rose 
slowly,  it  was  an  easy  thing  also.  I  set 
the  strength  of  my  body  against  the 
strength  of  the  stream,  and  nightly  I  eat 
in  my  hut  here  and  drank  at  Pateera  yon- 
der. She  had  said  that  one  Hirnam  Singh, 
a  scamp,  had  sought  her,  and  he  was  of  a 
village  up  the  river  but  on  the  same  bank. 
All  Sikhs  are  dogs,  and  they  have  refused 
in  their  folly  that  good  gift  of  God  — 
tobacco.  I  was  ready  to  destroy  Hirnam 
Singh  that  ever  he  had  come  nigh  her;  and 
the  more  because  he  had  sworn  to  her  that 
she  had  a  lover,  and  that  he  would  lie  in 
wait  and  give  the  name  to  the  headman 
unless  she  went  away  with  him.  What 
curs  are  these  Sikhs! 

After  that  news  I  swam  always  with  a 
little  sharp  knife  in  my  belt,  and  evil  would 
it  have  been  for  a  man  had  he  stayed  me. 
T  knew  not  the  face  of  Hirnam  Singh,  but 
I  would  have  killed  any  who  came  between 
me  and  her. 

Upon  a  night  in  the  beginning  of  the 


96 


In  Black  and  White 


rains  I  was  minded  to  go  across  to  Pateera, 
albeit  the  river  was  angry.  Now  the  na- 
ture of  the  Barhwi  is  this,  sahib.  In  twenty 
breaths  it  comes  down  from  the  hills,  a  wall 
three  feet  high,  and  I  have  seen  it,  between 
the  lighting  of  a  fire  and  the  cooking  of  a 
flapjack,  grow  from  the  runnel  to  a  sister 
of  the  Jumna. 

When  I  left  this  bank  there  was  a  shoal 
a  half  mile  down,  and  I  made  shift  to  fetch 
it  and  draw  breath  there  ere  going  forward; 
for  I  felt  the  hands  of  the  river  heavy  upon 
my  heels.  Yet  what  will  a  young  man  not 
do  for  Love's  sake?  There  was  but  little 
light  from  the  stars,  and  midway  to  the 
shoal  a  branch  of  the  stinking  deodar-tree 
brushed  my  mouth  as  I  swam.  That  was 
a  sign  of  heavy  rain  in  the  foot-hills  and 
beyond,  for  the  deodar  is  a  strong  tree,  not 
easily  shaken  from  the  hill-sides.  I  made 
haste,  the  river  aiding  me,  but  ere  I  had 
touched  the  shoal,  the  pulse  of  the  stream 
beat,  as  it  were,  within  me  and  around,  and, 
behold,  the  shoal  was  gone  and  I  rode  high 
on  the  crest  of  a  wave  that  ran  from  bank 
to  bank.  Has  the  sahib  ever  been  cast  into 
much  water  that  fights  and  will  not  let  a 
man  use  his  limbs?  To  me,  my  head  up 
on  the  water,  it  seemed  as  though  there 
were  naught  but  water  to  the  world's  end, 
and  the  river  drove  me  with  its  drift-wood. 
A  man  is  a  very  little  thing  in  the  belly  of 


In  Flood  Time  97 

a  flood.  And  this  flood,  though  I  knew  it 
not,  was  the  Great  Flood  about  which  men 
talk  still.  My  liver  was  dissolved  and  I  lay 
like  a  log  upon  my  back  in  the  fear  of  death. 
There  were  living  things  in  the  water,  cry- 
ing and  howling  grievously  —  beasts  of  the 
forest  and  cattle,  and  once  the  voice  of  a 
man  asking  for  help.  But  the  rain  came 
and  lashed  the  water  white,  and  I  heard 
no  more  save  the  roar  of  the  bowlders  be- 
lovv^  and  the  roar  of  the  rain  above.  Thus 
I  was  whirled  down-stream,  wrestling  for 
the  breath  in  me.  It  is  very  hard  to  die 
when  one  is  young.  Can  the  sahib,  stand- 
ing here,  see  the  railway  bridge?  Look, 
there  are  the  lights  of  the  mail-train  going 
to  Peshawur!  The  bridge  is  now  twenty 
feet  above  the  river,  but  upon  that  night 
the  water  was  roaring  against  the  lattice- 
work and  against  the  lattice  came  I  feet 
first.  But  much  driftwood  was  piled  there 
and  upon  the  piers,  and  I  took  no  great 
hurt.  Only  the  river  pressed  me  as  a  strong 
man  presses  a  weaker.  Scarcely  could  I 
take  hold  of  the  lattice-work  and  crawl  to 
the  upper  boom.  Sahib,  the  water  was 
foaming  across  the  rails  a  foot  deep!  Judge 
therefore  what  manner  of  flood  it  must  have 
been.  I  could  not  hear.  I  could  not  see. 
I  could  but  lie  on  the  boom  and  pant  for; 
breath. 

After  awhile  the  rain  ceased  and  there 


98 


In  Black  and  White 


came  out  in  the  sky  certain  new  washed 
stars,  and  by  their  light  I  saw  that  there 
w^as  no  end  to  the  black  water  as  far  as  the 
eye  could  travel,  and  the  water  had  risen 
upon  the  rails.  There  were  dead  beasts  in 
the  driftwood  on  the  piers,  and  others 
caught  by  the  neck  in  the  lattice-work,  and 
others  not  yet  drowned  who  strove  to  find 
a  foothold  on  the  lattice-work  —  buffaloes 
and  kine,  and  wild  pig,  and  deer  one  or  two, 
and  snakes  and  jackals  past  all  counting. 
Their  bodies  were  black  upon  the  left  side 
of  the  bridge,  but  the  smaller  of  them  were 
forced  through  the  lattice-work  and  whirled 
down-stream. 

Thereafter  the  stars  died  and  the  rain 
came  down  afresh  and  the  river  rose  yet 
more,  and  I  felt  the  bridge  begin  to  stir 
imder  me  as  a  man  stirs  in  his  sleep  ere  he 
wakes.  But  I  was  not  afraid,  sahib.  I 
swxar  to  you  that  I  was  not  afraid,  though 
I  had  no  power  in  my  limbs.  I  knew  that  1 
should  not  die  till  I  had  seen  her  once 
more.  But  I  was  very  cold,  and  I  felt  that 
the  bridge  must  go. 

There  was  a  trembling  in  the  water,  such 
a  trembling  as  goes  before  the  coming  of 
a  great  wave,  and  the  bridge  lifted  its  flank 
to  the  rush  of  that  coming  so  that  the  right 
lattice  dipped  under  water  and  the  left  rose 
clear.  On  my  beard,  sahib,  I  am  speaking 
God's   truth!     As   a   Mirzapore   stone-boat 


In  Flood  Time  99 

careens  to  the  wind,  so  the  Barhwi  Bridge 
turned.  Just  thus  and  in  no  other  manner. 
I  sHd  from  the  boom  into  deep  water, 
and  behind  me  came  the  wave  of  wrath 
of  the  river.  I  heard  its  voice  and  the 
scream  of  the  middle  part  of  the  bridge  as 
it  moved  from  the  piers  and  sunk,  and  I 
knew  no  more  till  I  rose  in  the  middle  of 
the  great  flood.  I  put  forth  my  hand  to 
swim,  and  lo!  it  fell  upon  the  knotted  hair 
of  the  head  of  a  man.  He  was  dead,  for 
no  one  but  I,  the  Strong  One  of  Barhwi, 
could  have  lived  in  that  race.  He  had  been 
dead  full  two  days,  for  he  rode  high,  wal- 
lowing, and  was  an  aid  to  me.  I  laughed 
then,  knowing  for  a  surety  that  I  should 
yet  see  her  and  take  no  harm ;  and  I  twisted 
m.y  fingers  in  the  hair  of  the  man,  for  I  was 
far  spent,  and  together  we  went  down  the 
stream  —  he  the  dead  and  I  the  living. 
Lacking  that  help  I  should  have  sunk;  the 
cold  was  in  my  marrow,  and  my  flesh  was 
ribbed  and  sodden  on  my  bones.  But  he 
had  no  fear  who  had  known  the  uttermost 
of  the  power  of  the  river;  and  I  let  him 
go  where  he  chose.  At  last  we  came  into 
the  power  of  a  side-current  that  set  to  the 
right  bank,  and  I  strove  with  my  feet  to 
draw  with  it.  But  the  dead  man  swung 
heavily  in  the  whirl,  and  I  feared  that  some 
branch  had  struck  him  and  that  he  would 
sink.     The  tops  of  the  tamarisk    brushed 


loo     In  Black  and  White 

my  knees,  so  I  knew  we  were  come  into 
flood-water  above  the  crops,  and,  after,  I 
let  down  my  legs  and  felt  bottom  —  the 
ridge  of  a  field  —  and,  after,  the  dead  man 
stayed  upon  a  knoll  under  a  fig-tree,  and 
I  drew  my  body  from  the  water  rejoicing. 

Does  the  sahib  know  whither  the  back- 
wash of  the  flood  had  borne  me?  To  the 
knoll  which  is  the  eastern  boundary  mark 
of  the  village  of  Pateera!  No  other  place. 
I  drew  the  dead  man  up  on  the  grass  for 
the  service  that  he  had  done  me,  and  also 
because  I  knew  not  whether  I  should  need 
him  again.  Then  I  went,  crying  thrice  like 
a  jackal,  to  the  appointed  place  which  was 
near  the  byre  of  the  herdman's  house.  But 
my  love  was  already  there,  weeping  upon 
her  knees.  She  feared  that  the  flood  had 
swept  my  hut  at  the  Barhwi  Ford.  When 
I  came  softly  through  the  ankle-deep  water, 
she  thought  it  was  a  ghost  and  would  have 
fled,  but  I  put  my  arms  around  her,  and 
.  .  .  I  was  no  ghost  in  those  days, 
though  I  am  an  old  man  now.  Ho!  Ho! 
Dried  corn,  in  truth.  Maize  without  juice. 
Ho!     Ho!* 

I  told  her  the  story  of  the  breaking  of  the 
Barhwi  Bridge,  and  she  said  that  I  was 
greater  than   mortal   man,   for   none   may 

*  I  grieve  to  say  that  the  Warden  of  the  Barhwi 
Ford  is  responsible  here  for  two  very  bad  puns  in 
the  vernacular. — R.  K. 


In  Flood  Time  loi 

cross  the  Barhwi  in  full  flood,  and  I  had 
seen  what  never  man  had  seen  before. 
Hand  in  hand  we  went  to  the  knoll  where 
the  dead  lay,  and  I  showed  her  by  what 
help  I  had  made  the  ford.  She  looked  also 
upon  the  body  under  the  stars,  for  the  lat- 
ter end  of  the  night  was  clear,  and  hid  her 
face  in  her  hands,  crying:  "It  is  the  body 
of  Hirnam  Singh!  "  I  said:  "  The  swine  is 
of  more  use  dead  than  living,  my  beloved," 
and  she  said :  "  Surely,  for  he  has  saved  the 
dearest  life  in  the  world  to  my  love.  None 
the  less,  he  can  not  stay  here,  for  that 
would  bring  shame  upon  me."  The  body 
was  not  a  gunshot  from  her  door. 

Then  said  I,  rolling  the  body  with  my 
hands:  "  God  hath  judged  between  us,  Hir- 
nam Singh,  that  thy  blood  might  not  be 
upon  my  head.  Now,  whether  I  have  done 
thee  a  wrong  in  keeping  thee  from  the 
burning-ghat,  do  thou  and  the  crows  settle 
together."  So  I  cast  him  adrift  into  the 
flood-water,  and  he  was  drawn  out  to  the 
open,  ever  wagging  his  thick  black  beard 
like  a  priest  under  the  pulpit-board.  And 
I  saw  no  more  of  Hirnam  Singh. 

Before  the  breaking  of  the  day  we  two 
parted,  and  I  moved  toward  such  of  the 
jungle  as  was  not  flooded.  With  the  full 
light  I  saw  what  I  had  done  in  the  dark- 
ness, and  the  bones  of  my  body  were 
loosened  in  my  flesh,  for  there  ran  two  kos 


I02       In  Black  and  White 

of  raging  water  between  the  village  of  Pa- 
teera  and  the  trees  of  the  far  bank,  and, 
in  the  middle,  the  piers  of  the  Barhwi 
Bridge  showed  like  broken  teeth  in  the  jaw 
of  an  old  man.  Nor  was  there  any  life 
upon  the  waters  —  neither  birds  nor  boats, 
but  only  an  army  of  drowned  things  —  bul- 
locks and  horses  and  men  —  and  the  river 
was  redder  than  blood  from  the  clay  of  the 
foot-hills.  Never  had  I  seen  such  a  flood 
—  never  since  that  year  have  I  seen  the 
like  —  and,  oh,  sahib,  no  man  living  had 
done  what  I  had  done.  There  was  no  re- 
turn for  me  that  day.  Not  for  all  the  lands 
of  the  headman  would  I  venture  a  second 
time  without  the  shield  of  darkness  that 
cloaks  danger.  I  went  a  kos  up  the  river 
to  the  house  of  a  blacksmith,  saying  that 
the  flood  had  swept  me  from  my  hut,  and 
they  gave  me  food.  Seven  days  I  stayed 
with  the  blacksmith,  till  a  boat  came  and  I 
returned  to  my  house.  There  was  no  trace 
of  wall,  or  roof,  or  floor  —  naught  but  a 
patch  of  slimy  mud.  Judge,  therefore,  sa- 
hib, how  far  the  river  must  have  risen.  It 
was  written  that  I  should  not  die  either  in 
my  house,  or  in  the  heart  of  the  Barhwi,  or 
under  the  wreck  of  the  Barhwi  Bridge,  for 
God  sent  down  Hirnam  Singh  two  days 
'dead,  though  I  know  not  how  the  man  died, 
to  be  my  buoy  and  support.  Hirnam  Singh 
lias  been  in  hell  these  twenty  years,  and  the 


In  Flood  Time  103 

thought  of  that  night  must  be  the  flower 
of  his  torment. 

Listen,  sahib !  The  river  has  changed  its 
voice.  It  is  going  to  sleep  before  the  dawn, 
to  which  there  is  yet  one  hour.  With  the 
Hght  it  will  come  down  afresh.  How  do 
I  know?  Have  I  been  here  thirty  years 
without  knowing  the  voice  of  the  river  as 
a  father  knows  the  voice  of  his  son?  Every 
moment  it  is  talking  less  angrily.  I  swear 
that  there  will  be  no  danger  for  one  hour 
or,  perhaps,  two.  I  can  not  answer  for  the 
morning.  Be  quick,  sahib!  I  will  call 
Ram  Pershad,and  he  will  not  turn  back  this 
time.  Is  the  'paulin  tightly  corded  upon 
all  the  baggage?  Ohe,  mahout  with  a  mud 
head,  the  elephant  for  the  sahib,  and  tell 
them  on  the  far  side  that  there  will  be  no 
crossing  after  daylight. 

Money?  Nay,  sahib.  I  am  not  of  that 
kind.  No  not  even  to  give  sweetmeats  to 
the  baby-folk.  My  house,  look  you,  is 
empty,  and  I  am  an  old  man. 

Dutt,  Ram  Pershad!  Dtitt!  Dutt!  Dutt! 
Good  luck  go  with  you,  sahib. 


THE  SENDING  OF  DANA  DA 


When  the  Devil  rides  on  your  chest  remember 
the  chamar. — Native  Proverb. 

Once  upon  a  time,  some  people  in  India 
made  a  new  heaven  and  a  new  earth  out 
of  broken  tea-cups,  a  missing  brooch  or 
two,  and  a  hair-brush.  These  were  hidden 
under  bushes,  or  stuffed  into  holes  in  the 
hill-side,  and  an  entire  civil  service  of  sub- 
ordinate gods  used  to  find  or  mend  them 
again ;  and  every  one  said :  "  There  are  more 
things  in  heaven  and  earth  than  are 
dreamed  of  in  our  philosophy."  Several 
other  things  happened  also,  but  the  religion 
never  seemed  to  get  much  beyond  its  first 
manifestations;  though  it  added  an  air-line 
postal  dak,  and  orchestral  effects  in  order 
to  keep  abreast  of  the  times,  and  stall  off 
competition. 

This  religion  was  too  elastic  for  ordinary 
use.  It  stretched  itself  and  embraced  pieces 
of  everything  that  medicine-men  of  all  ages 
have  manufactured.  It  approved  of  and 
stole  from  Freemasonry;  looted  the  Latter- 
104 


The  Sending  of  Dana  Da     105 

day  Rosicrucians  of  half  their  pet  words; 
took  any  fragments  of  Egyptian  philosophy 
that  it  found  in  the  Encyclopaedia  Britan- 
nica;  annexed  as  many  of  the  Vedas  as  had 
been  translated  into  French  or  English, 
and  talked  of  all  the  rest;  built  in  the  Ger- 
man versions  of  what  is  left  of  the  Zend 
Avesta;  encouraged  white,  gray  and  black 
magic,  including  Spiritualism,  palmistry, 
fortune-telling  by  cards,  hot  chestnuts, 
double-kerneled  nuts  and  tallow  droppings; 
would  have  adopted  Voodoo  and  Oboe  had 
it  known  anything  about  them,  and  showed 
itself,  in  every  way,  one  of  the  most  ac- 
commodating arrangements  that  had  ever 
been  invented  since  the  birth  of  the  sea. 

When  it  was  in  thorough  working  order, 
with  all  the  machinery  down  to  the  sub- 
scriptions complete,  Dana  Da  came  from 
nowhere,  with  nothing  in  his  hands,  and 
wrote  a  chapter  in  its  history  which  has 
hitherto  been  unpublished.  He  said  that 
his  first  name  was  Dana,  and  his  second 
was  Da.  Now,  setting  aside  Dana  of  the 
New  York  "  Sun,"  Dana  is  a  Bhil  name, 
and  Da  fits  no  native  of  India  unless  you 
accept  the  Bengali  De  as  the  original  spell- 
ing. Da  is  Lap  or  Finnish;  and  Dana  Da 
was  neither  Finn,  Chin,  Bhil,  BengaH,  Lap, 
Nair,  Gond,  Romaney,  Magh,  Bokhariot, 
Kurd,  Armenian,  Levantine,  Jew,  Persian, 
Punjabi,  Madrasi,  Parsee,  nor  anything  else 


io6      In  Black  and  White 

known  to  ethnologists.  He  was  simply 
Dana  Da,  and  declined  tc  give  further  in- 
formation. For  the  sake  of  brevity,  and  as 
roughly  indicating  his  origin,  he  was  called 
"  The  Native."  He  might  have  been  the 
original  Old  Man  of  the  Mountains,  who  is 
said  to  be  the  only  authorized  head  of  the 
Tea-cup  Creed.  Some  people  said  that  he 
was;  but  Dana  Da  used  to  smile  and  deny 
any  connection  with  the  cult;  explaining 
that  he  was  an  "  independent  experi- 
menter." 

As  I  have  said,  he  came  from  nowhere, 
with  his  hands  behind  his  back,  and  studied 
the  creed  for  three  weeks;  sitting  at  the 
feet  of  those  best  competent  to  explain  its 
mysteries.  Then  he  laughed  aloud  and 
went  away,  but  the  laugh  might  have  been 
either  of  devotion  or  derision. 

When  he  returned  he  was  without 
money,  but  his  pride  was  unabated.  He 
declared  that  he  knew  more  about  the 
things  in  heaven  and  earth  than  those  who 
taught  him,  and  for  this  contumacy  was 
abandoned  altogether. 

His  next  appearance  in  public  life  was 
at  a  big  cantonment  in  Upper  India,  and 
he  was  then  telling  fortunes  with  the  help 
of  three  leaden  dice,  a  very  dirty  old  cloth, 
and  a  little  tin  box  of  opium  pills.  He  told 
better  fortunes  when  he  was  allowed  half 
a  bottle  of  whisky;  but  the  things  which  he 


The  Sending  of  Dana  Da    107 

invented  on  the  opium  were  quite  worth 
the  money.  He  was  in  reduced  circum- 
stances. Among  other  people's  he  told  the 
fortune  of  an  Englishman  who  had  once 
been  interested  in  the  Simla  creed,  but  who, 
later  on,  had  married  and  forgotten  all  his 
old  knowledge  in  the  study  of  babies  and 
Exchange.  The  Englishman  allowed  Dana 
Da  to  tell  a  fortune  for  charity's  sake,  and 
gave  him  five  rupees,  a  dinner,  and  some 
old  clothes.  When  he  had  eaten,  Dana  Da 
professed  gratitude,  and  asked  if  there  were 
anything  he  could  do  for  his  host  —  in  the 
esoteric  line. 

"Is  there  any  one  that  you  love?"  said 
Dana  Da.  The  Englishman  loved  his  wife, 
but  had  no  desire  to  drag  her  name  into 
the  conversation.  He  therefore  shook  his 
head. 

"  Is  there  any  one  that  you  hate?  "  said 
Dana  Da.  The  Englishman  said  that  there 
were  several  men  whom  he  hated  deeply. 

"  Very  good,"  said  Dana  Da,  upon  whom 
the  whisky  and  the  opium  were  beginning 
to  tell.  "  Only  give  me  their  names,  and 
I  will  dispatch  a  Sending  to  them  and  kill 
them." 

Now  a  Sending  is  a  horrible  arrange- 
ment, first  invented,  they  say,  in  Iceland. 
It  is  a  thing  sent  by  a  wizard,  and  may  take 
any  form,  but,  most  generally  wanders 
about  the  land  in  the  shape  of  a  little  purple 


io8        In  Black  and  White 

cloud  till  it  finds  the  sendee,  and  him  it 
kills  by  changing  into  the  form  of  a  horse, 
or  a  cat,  or  a  man  without  a  face.  It  is  not 
strictly  a  native  patent,  though  chamars  can, 
if  irritated,  dispatch  a  Sending  which  sits 
on  the  breast  of  their  enemy  by  night  and 
nearly  kills  him.  Very  few  natives  care 
to  irritate  chamars  for  this  reason. 

'*  Let  me  dispatch  a  Sending,"  said  Dana 
Da;  *'  I  am  nearly  dead  now  with  want,  and 
drink,  and  opium;  but  I  should  like  to  kill 
a  man  before  I  die.  I  can  send  a  Sending 
anywhere  you  choose,  and  in  any  form  ex- 
cept in  the  shape  of  a  man." 

The  Englishman  had  no  friends  that  he 
wished  to  kill,  but  partly  to  soothe  Dana 
Da,  whose  eyes  were  rolling,  and  partly 
to  see  what  would  be  done,  he  asked 
whether  a  modified  Sending  could  not  be 
arranged  for  —  such  a  Sending  as  should 
make  a  man's  life  a  burden  to  him,  and  yet 
do  him  no  harm.  If  this  were  possible, 
he  notified  his  willingness  to  give  Dana 
Da  ten  rupees  for  the  job. 

''  I  am  not  what  I  was  once,"  said  Dana 
Da,  "  and  I  must  take  the  money  because 
I  am  poor.  To  what  Englishman  shall  I 
send  it?  " 

"  Send  a  Sending  to  Lone  Sahib,"  said 
the  Englishman,  naming  a  man  who  had 
been  most  bitter  in  rebuking  him  for  his 


The  Sending  of  Dana  Da     109 

apostasy  from  the  Tea-cup  Creed.     Dana 
Da  laughed  and  nodded. 

"  I  could  have  chosen  no  better  man 
myself,"  said  he.  "  I  will  see  that  he  finds 
the  Sending  about  his  path  and  about  his 
bed." 

He  lay  down  on  the  hearth-rug,  turned 
up  the  whites  of  his  eyes,  shivered  all  over 
and  began  to  snort.  This  was  magic,  or 
opium,  or  the  Sending,  or  all  three.  When 
he  opened  his  eyes  he  vowed  that  the 
Sending  had  started  upon  the  warpath,  and 
was  at  that  moment  flying  up  to  the  town 
where  Lone  Sahib  lives. 

'*  Give  me  my  ten  rupees,"  said  Dana 
Da,  wearily,  "  and  write  a  letter  to  Lone 
Sahib,  telling  him,  and  all  who  believe  with 
him,  that  you  and  a  friend  are  using  a 
power  greater  than  theirs.  They  will  see 
that  you  are  speaking  the  truth." 

He  departed  unsteadily,  with  the  promise 
of  some  more  rupees  if  anything  came  of 
the  Sending. 

The  Englishman  sent  a  letter  to  Lone 
Sahib,  couched  in  what  he  remembered  of 
the  terminology  of  the  creed.  He  wrote: 
''  I  also,  in  the  days  of  what  you  held  to 
be  my  backsliding,  have  obtained  enlight- 
enment, and  with  enlightenment  has  come 
power."  Then  he  grew  so  deeply  mys- 
terious that  the  recipient  of  the  letter  would 
make  neither  head  nor  tail  of  it,  and  was 


no      In  Black  and  White 

proportionately  impressed;  for  he  fancied 
that  his  friend  had  become  a  "  fifth- 
rounder.**  When  a  man  is  a  "  fifth- 
rounder  "  he  can  do  more  than  Slade  and 
Houdin  combined. 

Lone  Sahib  read  the  letter  in  five  differ- 
ent fashions,  and  was  beginning  a  sixth 
interpretation  when  his  bearer  dashed  in 
with  the  news  that  there  was  a  cat  on  the 
bed.  Now,  if  there  was  one  thing  that 
Lone  Sahib  hated  more  than  another  it  was 
a  cat.  He  rated  the  bearer  for  not  turning 
it  out  of  the  house.  The  bearer  said  that 
he  was  afraid.  All  the  doors  of  the  bed- 
room had  been  shut  throughout  the  morn- 
ing, and  no  real  cat  could  possibly  have 
entered  the  room.  He  would  prefer  not  to 
meddle  with  the  creature. 

Lone  Sahib  entered  the  room  gingerly, 
and  there,  on  the  pillow  of  his  bed, 
sprawled  and  whimpered  a  wee  white  kit- 
ten, not  a  jumpsome,  frisky  little  beast,  but 
a  slug-like  crawler  with  his  eyes  barely 
opened  and  its  paws  lacking  strength  or 
direction  —  a  kitten  that  ought  to  have 
been  in  a  basket  with  its  mamma.  Lone 
Sahib  caught  it  by  the  scruff  of  its  neck, 
handed  it  over  to  the  sweeper  to  be 
drowned,  and  fined  the  bearer  four  annas. 
That  evening,  as  he  was  reading  in  his 
room,  he  fancied  that  he  saw  something 
moving  about  on  the  hearth-rug,  outside 


The  Sending  of  Dana  Da    1 1 1 

the  circle  of  light  from  his  reading-lamp. 
When  the  thing  began  to  myowl,  he  re- 
alized that  it  was  a  kitten  —  a  wee  white 
kitten,  nearly  blind  and  very  miserable. 
He  was  seriously  angry,  and  spoke  bitterly 
to  his  bearer,  who  said  that  there  was  no 
kitten  in  the  room  when  he  brought  in  the 
lamp,  and  real  kittens  of  tender  age  gen- 
erally had  mother-cats  in  attendance. 

''  If  the  Presence  will  go  out  into  the 
veranda  and  listen,"  said  the  bearer,  "  he 
will  hear  no  cats.  How,  therefore,  can 
the  kitten  on  the  bed  and  the  kitten  on  the 
hearth-rug  be  real  kittens?  " 

Lone  Sahib  went  out  to  listen,  and  the 
bearer  followed  him,  but  there  was  na 
sound  of  Rachel  mewing  for  her  children. 
He  returned  to  his  room,  having  hurled 
the  kitten  down  the  hill-side,  and  wrote 
out  the  incidents  of  the  day  for  the  benefit 
of  his  coreligionists.  Those  people  were 
so  absolutely  free  from  superstition  that 
they  ascribed  anything  a  little  out  of  the 
common  to  agencies.  As  it  was  their  busi- 
ness to  know  all  about  the  agencies,  they 
were  on  terms  of  almost  indecent  familiar- 
ity with  manifestations  of  every  kind. 
Their  letters  dropped  from  the  ceiling  — 
unstamped  —  and  spirits  used  to  squatter 
up  and  down  their  staircases  all  night. 
But  they  had  never  come  into  contact  with 
kittens.     Lone  Sahib  wfote  out  the  facts, 


112      In  Black  and  White 

noting  the  hour  and  the  minute,  as  every 
psychical  observer  is  bound  to  do,  and  ap- 
pending the  Englishman's  letter  because  it 
was  the  most  mysterious  document  and 
might  have  had  a  bearing  upon  anything 
in  this  world  or  the  next.  An  outsider 
would  have  translated  all  the  tangle  thus: 
"  Look  out!  You  laughed  at  me  once,  and 
now  I  am  going  to  make  you  sit  up." 

Lone  Sahib's  coreligionists  found  that 
meaning  in  it;  but  their  translation  was 
refined  and  full  of  four-syllable  words. 
They  held  a  sederunt,  and  were  filled  with 
tremulous  joy,  for,  in  spite  of  their  famil- 
iarity with  all  the  other  worlds  and  cycles, 
they  had  a  very  human  awe  of  things  sent 
from  ghost-land.  They  met  in  Lone 
Sahib's  room  in  shrouded  and  sepulchral 
gloom,  and  their  conclave  was  broken  up 
by  a  clinking  among  the  photo-frames  on 
the  mantel-piece.  A  wee  white  kitten, 
nearly  blind,  was  looping  and  writhing 
itself  between  the  clock  and  the  candle- 
sticks. That  stopped  all  investigations  or 
doubtings.  Here  was  the  manifestation  in 
the  flesh.  It  was,  so  far  as  could  be  seen, 
devoid  of  purpose,  but  it  was  a  manifesta- 
tion of  undoubted  authenticity. 

They  drafted  a  round  robin  to  the  Eng- 
lishman, the  backslider  of  old  days,  adjur- 
ing him  in  the  interests  of  the  creed  to 
explain  whether  there  was  any  connection 


The  Sending  of  Dana  Da     113 

between  the  embodiment  of  some  Egyptian 
god  or  other  (I  have  forgotten  the  name) 
and  his  communication.  They  called  the 
kitten  Ra,  or  Toth,  or  Shem,  or  Noah,  or 
something:  tad  when  Lone  Sahib  con- 
fessed that  the  first  one  had,  at  his  most 
misguided  instance,  been  drowned  by  the 
sweeper,  they  said  consolingly  that  in  his 
next  life  he  would  be  a  "  bounder,"  and 
not  even  a  "  rounder  "  of  the  lowest  grade. 
These  words  may  not  be  quite  correct,  but 
they  express  the  sense  of  the  house 
accurately. 

When  the  Englishman  received  the 
round  robin  —  it  came  by  post  —  he  was 
startled  and  bewildered.  He  sent  into  the 
bazaar  for  Dana  Da,  who  read  the  letter 
and  laughed.  "  That  is  my  Sending,"  said 
he.  "  I  told  you  I  would  work  well.  Now 
give  me  another  ten  rupees." 

"  But  what  in  the  world  is  this  gibberish 
about  Egyptian  gods?"  asked  the  Eng- 
lishman. 

"  Cats,"  said  Dana  Da,  with  a  hiccough, 
for  he  had  discovered  the  Englishman's 
whisky  bottle.  ''  Cats  and  cats  and  cats ! 
Never  was  such  a  Sending.  A  hundred  of 
cats.  Now  give  me  ten  more  rupees  and 
write  as  I  dictate." 

Dana  Da's  letter  was  a  curiosity.  It 
bore  the  Englishman's  signature,  and 
hinted  at  cats  —  a  Sending  of  cats.     The 


114      In  Black  and  White 

mere  words  on  paper  were  creepy  and  un- 
canny to  behold. 

*' What  have  you  done,  though?"  said 
the  EngHshman ;  "  I  am  as  much  in  the 
dark  as  ever.  Do  you  mean  to  say  that 
you  can  actually  send  this  absurd  Sending 
you  talk  about?  " 

"  Judge  for  yourself,"  said  Dana  Da. 
"What  does  that  letter  mean?  In  a  little 
time  they  will  be  all  at  my  feet  and  yours, 
and  I,  oh,  glory!  will  be  drugged  or  drunk 
all  day  long." 

Dana  Da  knew  his  people. 

When  a  man  who  hates  cats  wakes  up 
in  the  morning  and  finds  a  little  squirming 
kitten  on  his  breast,  or  puts  his  hand  into 
his  ulster-pocket  and  finds  a  little  half- 
dead  kitten  where  his  gloves  should  be,  or 
opens  his  trunk  and  finds  a  vile  kitten 
among  his  dress-shirts,  or  goes  for  a  long 
ride  with  his  mackintosh  strapped  on  his 
saddle-bow  and  shakes  a  little  squawling 
kitten  from  its  folds  when  he  opens  it,  or 
goes  out  to  dinner  and  finds  a  little  blind 
kitten  under  his  chair,  or  stays  at  home  and 
finds  a  writhing  kitten  under  the  quilt,  or 
wriggling  among  his  boots,  or  hanging, 
head  downward,  in  his  tobacco-jar,  or  being 
mangled  by  his  terrier  in  the  veranda  — 
when  such  a  man  finds  one  kitten,  neither 
more  nor  less,  once  a  day  in  a  place  where 
no  kitten  rightly  could  or  should  be,  he  is 


The  Sending  of  Dana  Da     115 

naturall}-  upset.  When  he  dare  not  mur- 
der his  daily  trove  because  he  beHeves  it 
to  be  a  manifestation,  an  emissary,  an  em- 
bodiment, and  half  a  dozen  other  things  all 
out  of  the  regular  course  of  nature,  he  is 
more  than  upset.  He  is  actually  distressed. 
Some  of  Lone  Sahib's  coreligionists 
thought  that  he  was  a  highly  favored  indi- 
vidual; but  i;nany  said  that  if  he  had  treated 
the  first  kitten  with  proper  respect  —  as 
suited  a  Toth-Ra-Tum-Sennacherib  Em- 
bodiment—  all  this  trouble  would  have 
been  averted.  They  compared  him  to  the 
Ancient  Mariner,  but  none  the  less  they 
were  proud  of  him  and  proud  of  the  Eng- 
lishman who  had  sent  the  manifestation. 
They  did  not  call  it  a  Sending  because  Ice- 
landic magic  was  not  in  their  programme. 
After  sixteen  kittens  —  that  is  to  say, 
after  one  fortnight,  for  there  were  three 
kittens  on  the  first  day  to  impress  the  fact 
of  the  Sending,  the  whole  camp  was  up- 
lifted by  a  letter  —  it  came  flying  through 
a  window  —  from  the  Old  Man  of  the 
Mountains  —  the  head  of  all  the  creed  — 
explaining  the  manifestation  in  the  most 
beautiful  language  and  soaking  up  all  the 
credit  of  it  for  himself.  The  Englishman, 
said  the  letter,  was  not  there  at  all.  He 
was  a  backslider  without  power  or  asceti- 
cism, who  couldn't  even  raise  a  table  by 
force  of  volition,  much  less  project  an  army 


1 1 6       In  Black  and  White 

of  kittens  through  space.  The  entire  ar- 
rangement, said  the  letter,  was  strictly  or- 
thodox, worked  and  sanctioned  by  the 
highest  authorities  within  the  pale  of  the 
creed.  There  was  great  joy  at  this,  for 
some  of  the  weaker  brethren  seeing  that 
an  outsider  who  had  been  working  on  in- 
dependent lines  could  create  kittens, 
whereas  their  own  rules  had  never  gone  be- 
yond crockery  —  and  broken  at  that  — 
were  showing  a  desire  to  break  line  on  their 
own  trail.  In  fact,  there  was  the  promise 
of  a  schism.  A  second  round  robin  was 
drafted  to  the  Englishman,  beginning: 
*'  Oh,  Scoffer,"  and  ending  with  a  selection 
of  curses  from  the  rites  of  Mizraim  and 
Memphis  and  the  Commination  of  Jugana 
who  was  a  "  fifth-rounder,"  upon  whose 
name  an  upstart  "  third-rounder "  once 
traded.  A  papal  excommunication  is  a 
billet-doux  compared  to  the  Commination  of 
Jugana.  The  Englishman  had  been  proved 
under  the  hand  and  seal  of  the  Old  Man 
of  the  Mountains  to  have  appropriated  vir- 
tue and  pretended  to  have  power  which,  in 
reality,  belonged  only  to  the  supreme  head. 
Naturally  the  round  robin  did  not  spare 
him. 

He  handed  the  letter  to  Dana  Da  to 
translate  into  decent  English.  The  effect 
on  Dana  Da  was  curious.     At  first  he  was 


The  Sending  of  Dana  Da     117 

furiously  angry,  and  then  he  laughed  for 
five  minutes. 

"I  had  thought,"  he  said,  "that  they 
would  have  come  to  me.  In  another  week 
I  would  have  shown  that  I  sent  the  Send- 
ing, and  they  would  have  discrowned  the 
Old  Man  of  the  Mountains  who  has  sent 
this  Sending  of  mine.  Do  you  do  nothing? 
The  time  has  come  for  me  to  act.  Write 
as  I  dictate,  and  I  will  put  them  to  shame. 
But  give  me  ten  more  rupees." 

At  Dana  Da's  dictation  the  Englishman 
wrote  nothing  less  than  a  formal  challenge 
to  the  Old  Man  of  the  Mountains.  It 
wound  up:  "And  if  this  manifestation  be 
from  your  hand,  then  let  it  go  forward ;  but 
if  it  be  from  my  hand,  I  will  that  the  Send- 
ing shall  cease  in  two  days'  time.  On  that 
day  there  shall  be  twelve  kittens  and  thence- 
forward none  at  all.  The  people  shall  judge 
between  us."  This  was  signed  by  Dana  Da, 
who  added  pentacles  and  pentagrams,  and 
a  crux  aiisafa,  and  half  a  dozen  szvastikas, 
and  a  Triple  Tau  to  his  name,  just  to  show 
that  he  was  all  he  laid  claim  to  be. 

The  challenge  was  read  out  to  the  gentle- 
men and  ladies,  and  they  remembered  then 
that  Dana  Da  had  laughed  at  them  some 
years  ago.  It  was  officially  announced  that 
the  Old  Man  of  the  Mountains  would  treat 
the  matter  with  contempt;  Dana  Da  being 
an  independent  investigator  without  a  sin- 


1 1 8       In  Black  and  White 

gle  "  round  "  at  the  back  of  him.  But  this 
did  not  soothe  his  people.  They  wanted 
to  see  a  fight.  They  were  very  human  for 
all  their  spirituality.  Lone  Sahib,  who  was 
really  being  worn  out  with  kittens,  submit- 
ted meekly  to  his  fate.  He  felt  that  he  was 
being  ''  kittened  to  prove  the  power  of 
Dana  Da,"  as  the  poet  says. 

When  the  stated  day  dawned,  the 
shower  of  kittens  began.  Some  were  white 
and  some  were  tabby,  and  all  were  about 
the  same  loathsome  age.  Three  were  on 
his  hearth-rug,  three  in  his  bath-room,  and 
(he  other  six  turned  up  at  intervals  among 
the  visitors  who  came  to  see  the  prophecy 
break  down.  Never  was  a  more  satisfac- 
tory Sending.  On  the  next  day  there  were 
no  kittens,  and  the  next  day  and  all  the 
other  days  were  kittenless  and  quiet.  The 
people  murmured  and  looked  to  the  Old 
Man  of  the  Mountains  for  an  explanation. 
A  letter,  written  on  a  palm-leaf,  dropped 
from  the  ceiling,  but  every  one  except  Lone 
Sahib  felt  that  letters  were  not  what  the 
occasion  demanded.  There  should  have 
been  cats,  there  should  have  been  cats  — 
full-grown  ones.  The  letter  proved  con- 
clusively that  there  had  been  a  hitch  in  the 
psychic  current  which,  colliding  with  a 
dual  identity,  had  interfered  with  the  per- 
cipient activity  all  along  the  main  line.  The 
kittens  were  still  going  on,  but  owing  to 


The  Sending  of  Dana  Da     1 1 9 

some  failure  in  the  developing  fluid,  they 
were  not  materialized.  The  air  was  thick 
with  letters  for  a  few  days  afterward.  Un- 
seen hands  played  Gliick  and  Beethoven  on 
finger-bowls  and  clock-shades;  but  all  men 
felt  that  psychic  life  was  a  mockery  without 
materialized  kittens.  Even  Lone  Sahib 
shouted,  with  the  majority  on  this  head. 
Dana  Da's  letters  were  very  insulting-,  and 
if  he  had  then  offered  to  lead  a  new  depart- 
ure, there  is  no  knowing  what  might  not 
have  happened. 

But  Dana  Da  was  dying  of  whisky  and 
opium  in  the  Englishman's  godown,  and 
had  small  heart  for  new  creeds. 

*'  They  have  been  put  to  shame,"  said  he. 
"  Never  was  such  a  Sending.  It  has  killed 
me." 

"  Nonsense,"  said  the  Englishman,  "  you 
are  going  to  die,  Dana  Da,  and  that  sort 
of  stuff  must  be  left  behind.  I'll  admit  that 
you  have  made  some  queer  things  come 
about.  Tell  me  honestly,  now,  how  was  it 
done? " 

"  Give  me  ten  more  rupees,"  said  Dana 
Da,  faintly,  "  and  if  I  die  before  I  spend 
them,  bury  them  with  me."  The  silver  was 
counted  out  while  Dana  Da  was  fighting 
with  death.  His  hand  closed  upon  the 
money  and  he  smiled  a  grim  smile. 

"  Bend  low,"  he  whispered.  The  Eng- 
lishman bent. 


1 20       In  Black  and  White 

"  Bunnia  —  mission-school  —  expelled  -^ 
box-wallah  (peddler)  —  Ceylon  pearl-mer- 
chant —  all  mine  English  education  —  out- 
casted,  and  made  up  name  Dana  Da  — 
England  with  American  thought-reading 
man  and  —  and  —  you  gave  me  ten  rupees 
several  times  —  I  gave  the  Sahib's  bearer 
two-eight  a  month  for  cats  —  little,  little 
cats.  I  wrote,  and  he  put  them  about  — 
very  clever  man.  Very  few  kittens  now  in 
the  bazaar.  Ask  Lone  Sahib's  sweeper's 
wife." 

So  saying,  Dana  Da  gasped  and  passed 
away  into  a  land  where,  if  all  be  true,  there 
are  no  materializations  and  the  making  of 
new  creeds  is  discouraged. 

But  consider  the  gorgeous  simplicity  of 
it  all! 


ON  THE  CITY  WALL 


Then  she  let  them  down  by  a  cord  through  the 
window;  for  her  house  was  upon  the  town  wall, 
and  she  dwelt  upon  the  vjaXl.^Joshua  ii.  15. 

Lalun  is  a  member  of  the  most  ancient 
profession  in  the  world.  Lilith  was  her 
very-great-grandmamma,  and  that  was  be- 
fore the  days  of  Eve  as  every  one  knows. 
In  the  West,  people  say  rude  things  about 
Lalun's  profession,  and  write  lectures 
about  it,  and  distribute  the  lectures  to 
young  persons  in  order  that  morality  may 
be  preserved.  In  the  East,  where  the  pro- 
fession is  hereditary,  descending  from 
mother  to  daughter,  nobody  writes  lectures 
or  takes  any  notice,  and  that  is  a  distinct 
proof  of  the  inability  of  the  East  to  manage 
its  own  affairs. 

Lalun's  real  husband,  for  even  ladies  of 
Lalun's  profession  in  the  East  must  have 
husbands,  was  a  great,  big  jujube-tree. 
Her  mamma,  who  had  married  a  fig,  spent 
ten  thousand  rupees  on  Lalun's  wedding, 
which  was  blessed  by  forty-seven  clergy- 
men of  mamma's  church,  and  distributed 
121 


122        In  Black  and  White 

five  thousand  rupees  in  charity  to  the  poor. 
And  that  was  the  custom  of  the  land.  The 
advantages  of  having  a  jujube-tree  for  a 
husband  are  obvious.  You  can  not  hurt 
his  feelings,  and  he  looks  imposing. 

Lalun's  husband  stood  on  the  plain  out- 
side the  city  walls,  and  Lalun's  house  was 
upon  the  east  wall  facing  the  river.  If  you 
fell  from  the  broad  window-seat  you 
dropped  thirty  feet  sheer  into  the  city 
ditch.  But  if  you  stayed  where  you  should 
and  looked  forth,  you  saw  all  the  cattle  of 
the  city  being  driven  down  to  water,  the 
students  of  the  government  college  playing 
cricket,  the  high  grass  and  trees  that 
fringed  the  river-bank,  the  great  sand-bars 
that  ribbed  the  river,  the  red  tombs  of  dead 
emperors  beyond  the  river,  and  very  far 
away  through  the  blue  heat-haze,  a  glint 
of  the  snows  of  the  Himalayas. 

Wali  Dad  used  to  lie  in  the  window-seat 
for  hours  at  a  time  watching  this  viev/.  He 
was  a  young  Mohammedan  who  was  suf- 
fering acutely  from  education  of  the  Eng- 
lish variety  and  knew  it.  His  father  had 
sent  him  to  a  mission-school  to  get  wis- 
dom, and  Wali  Dad  had  absorbed  more 
than  ever  his  father  or  the  missionaries 
intended  he  should.  When  his  father  died, 
Wali  Dad  was  independent  and  spent  two 
years  experimenting  w^ith  the  creeds  of  the 


On  the  City  Wall  123 

earth  and  reading  books  that  are  of  no  use 
to  anybody. 

After  he  had  made  an  unsuccessful  at- 
tempt to  enter  the  Roman  Cathohc  Church 
and  the  Presbyterian  fold  at  the  same  time 
(the  missionaries  found  him  out  and  called 
him  names,  but  they  didn't  understand  his 
trouble),  he  discovered  Lalun  on  the  city 
wall  and  became  the  most  constant  of  her 
few  admirers.  He  possessed  a  head  that 
English  artists  at  home  would  rave  over 
and  paint  amid  impossible  surroundings  — 
a  face  that  female  novelists  would  use  with 
delight  through  nine  hundred  pages.  In 
reality  he  was  only  a  clean-bred  young 
Mohammedan,  with  penciled  eyebrows, 
small-cut  nostrils,  little  feet  and  hands,  and 
a  very  tired  look  in  his  eyes.  By  virtue  of 
his  twenty-two  years  he  had  grown  a  neat 
black  beard  which  he  stroked  with  pride 
and  kept  delicately  scented.  His  life 
seemed  to  be  divided  between  borrowing 
books  from  me  and  making  love  to  Lalun 
in  the  window-seat.  He  composed  songs 
about  her,  and  some  of  the  songs  are  sung 
to  this  day  in  the  city  from  the  street  of 
the  mutton-butchers  to  the  copper-smith's 
ward. 

One  song,  the  prettiest  of  all,  says  that 
the  beauty  of  Lalun  was  so  great  that  it 
troubled  the  hearts  of  the  British  govern- 
ment and  caused  them  to  lose  their  peace  of 


1 24        In  Black  and  White 

mind.  That  is  the  way  the  song  is  sung 
in  the  streets:  but,  if  you  examine  it  care- 
fully  and  know  the  key  to  the  explana- 
tion, you  will  lind  that  there  are  three  puns 
in  it  —  on  ''  beauty,"  "  heart,"  and  "  peace 
of  mind  " —  so  that  it  runs :  "  By  the 
subtlety  of  Lalun  the  administration  of  the 
government  was  troubled  and  it  lost  such 
and  such  a  man."  When  Wali  Dad  sings 
that  song  his  eyes  glow  like  hot  coals  and 
Lalun  leans  back  among  the  cushions  and 
throws  bunches  of  jasmine  buds  at  Wali 
Dad. 

But  fust  it  is  necessary  to  explain  some- 
thing about  the  supreme  government 
which  is  above  all  and  below  all  and  behind 
all.  Gentlemen  come  from  England,  spend 
a  few  weeks  in  India,  walk  round  this 
great  Sphinx  of  the  Plains,  and  write  books 
upon  its  ways  and  its  works,  denouncing 
or  praising  it  as  their  own  ignorance 
prompts.  Consequently  all  the  world 
knows  how  the  supreme  government  con- 
ducts itself.  But  no  one,  not  even  the 
supreme  government,  knows  everything 
about  the  administration  of  the  empire. 
Year  by  year  England  sends  out  fresh 
drafts  for  the  first  fighting-line,  which  ife 
ofBcially  called  the  Indian  Civil  Service. 
These  die,  or  kill  themselves  by  overwork, 
or  are  worried  to  death  or  broken  in  health 
and  hope  in  order  that  the  land  may  be 


On  the  City  Wall  125 

protected  from  death  and  sickness,  famine 
and  war,  and  may  eventually  become  capa- 
ble of  standing  alone.  It  will  never  stand 
alone,  but  the  idea  is  a  pretty  one,  and  men 
are  willing  to  die  for  it,  and  yearly  the 
work  of  pushing  and  coaxing  and  scolding 
and  petting  the  country  into  good  living 
goes  forward.  If  an  advance  be  made  all 
credit  is  given  to  the  native,  while  the 
Englishmen  stand  back  and  wipe  their  fore- 
heads. If  a  failure  occurs  the  English- 
men step  forward  and  take  the  blame. 
Overmuch  tenderness  of  this  kind  has  bred 
a  strong  belief  among  many  natives  that 
the  native  is  capable  of  administering  the 
country,  and  many  devout  Englishmen 
believe  this  also,  because  the  theory  is 
stated  in  beautiful  English  with  all  the 
latest  political  garnish. 

There  be  other  men  who,  though  unedu- 
cated, see  visions  and  dream  dreams,  and 
they,  too,  hope  to  administer  the  country 
in  their  own  way  —  that  is  to  say,  with  a 
garnish  of  red  sauce.  Such  men  must 
exist  among  two  hundred  million  people, 
and,  if  they  are  not  attended  to,  may  cause 
trouble  and  even  break  the  great  idol  called 
"  Pax  Britannic,"  which,  as  the  newspapers 
say,  lives  between  Peshawur  and  Cape 
Comorin.  Were  the  day  of  doom  to  dawn 
to-morrow,  you  would  find  the  supreme 
government    ''  taking    measures    to    allay 


1 26        In  Black  and  White 

popular  excitement "  and  putting  guards 
upon  the  grave-yards  that  the  dead  might 
troop  forth  orderly.  The  youngest  civilian 
would  arrest  Gabriel  on  his  own  responsi- 
bility if  the  archangel  could  not  produce 
a  deputy  commissioner's  permission  to 
''  make  music  or  other  noises,"  as  the  form 
says. 

Whence  it  is  easy  to  see  that  mere  men  of 
the  flesh  who  would  create  a  tumult  must 
fare  badly  at  the  hands  of  the  supreme 
government.  And  they  do.  There  is  no 
outward  sign  of  excitement;  there  is  no 
confusion;  there  is  no  knowledge.  When 
due  and  sufficient  reasons  have  been  given, 
weighed  and  approved,  the  machinery 
moves  forward,  and  the  dreamer  of  dreams 
and  the  seer  of  visions  is  gone  from  his 
friends  and  following.  He  enjoys  the  hos- 
pitality of  government;  there  is  no  restric- 
tion upon  his  movements  within  certain 
limits;  but  he  must  not  confer  any  more 
with  his  brother  dreamers.  Once  in  every 
six  months  the  supreme  government  as- 
sures itself  that  he  is  well  and  takes  formal 
acknowledgment  of  his  existence.  No  one 
protests  against  his  detention,  because  the 
few  people  who  know  about  it  are  in  deadly 
fear  of  seeming  to  know  him;  and  never  a 
single  newspaper  ''  takes  up  his  case  "  or 
organizes  demonstrations  on  his  behalf, 
because  the  newspapers  of  India  have  got 


On  the  City  Wall  127 

behind  that  lying-  proverb  whicli  says  the 
pen  is  mightier  than  the  sword,  and  can 
walk  deUcately  and  with  circumspection. 

So  now  you  know  as  much  as  you  ought 
about  WaH  Dad,  the  educational  mixture, 
and  the  supreme  government. 

Lalun  has  not  yet  been  described.  She 
would  need,  so  Wali  Dad  says,  a  thousand 
pens  of  gold  and  ink  scented  with  musk. 
She  has  been  variously  compared  to  the 
moon,  the  Dil  Sagar  Lake,  a  spotted  quail, 
a  gazelle,  the  sun  on  the  Desert  of  Kutch, 
the  dawn,  the  stars,  and  the  young  bamboo. 
These  comparisons  imply  that  she  is  beauti- 
ful exceedingly  according  to  the  native 
standards,  which  are  practically  the  same 
as  those  of  the  West.  Her  eyes  are  black 
and  her  hair  is  black,  and  her  eyebrows 
are  black  as  leeches;  her  mouth  is  tiny  and 
says  witty  things;  her  hands  are  tiny  and 
have  saved  much  money;  her  feet  are  tiny 
and  have  trodden  on  the  naked  hearts  of 
many  men.  But,  as  Wali  Dad  sings: 
"  Lalun  is  Lalun,  and  when  you  have  said 
that,  you  have  only  come  to  the  beginnings 
of  knowledge." 

The  little  house  on  the  city  wall  was  just 
big  enough  to  hold  Lalun,  and  her  maid, 
and  a  pussy-cat  with  a  silver  collar.  A  big 
pink  and  blue  cut-glass  chandelier  hung 
from  the  ceiling  of  the  reception-room.  A 
petty  Nawab  had  given  Lalun  the  horror, 


128      In  Black  and  White 

and  she  kept  it  for  politeness'  sake.  Th« 
floor  of  the  room  was  of  polished  chunam, 
white  as  curds.  A  latticed  window  of 
carved  wood  was  set  in  one  wall ;  there  was 
a  profusion  of  squabby  pluffy  cushions  and 
fat  carpets  everywhere,  and  Lalun's  silver 
huqa,  studded  with  turquoises,  had  a  special 
little  carpet  all  to  its  shining  self.  Wali 
Dad  was  nearly  as  permanent  a  fixture  as 
the  chandelier.  As  I  have  said,  he  lay  in 
the  window-seat  and  meditated  on  life  and 
death  and  Lalun  —  'specially  Lalun.  The 
feet  of  the  young  men  of  the  city  tended  to 
her  door-ways  and  then  —  retired,  for  La- 
lun was  a  particular  maiden,  slow  of  speech, 
reserved  of  mind,  and  not  in  the  least  in- 
clined to  orgies  which  were  nearly  certain 
to  end  in  strife.  "  If  I  am  of  no  value,  I 
am  unworthy  of  this  honor,"  said  Lalun. 
"  If  I  am  of  value,  they  are  unworthy  of 
me."     And  that  was  a  crooked  sentence. 

In  the  long  hot  nights  of  latter  April  and 
May  all  the  city  seemed  to  assemble  in  La- 
lun's little  white  room  to  smoke  and  to  talk. 
Shiahs  of  the  grimmest  and  most  uncom- 
promising persuasion;  Sufis  who  had  lost 
all  belief  in  the  Prophet  and  retained  but 
little  in  God;  wandering  Hindoo  priests 
passing  southward  on  their  way  to  the  Cen- 
tral India  fairs  and  other  afifairs;  pundits 
in  black  gowns,  with  spectacles  on  their 
noses  and  undigested  wisdom  in  their  in- 


On  the  City  Wall  1 29 

sides;  bearded  headmen  of  the  wards;  Sikhs 
with  all  the  details  of  the  latest  ecclesiastical 
scandal  in  the  Golden  Temple;  red-eyed 
priests  from  beyond  the  border,  looking 
like  trapped  wolves  and  talking  like  ravens; 
M.  A/s  of  the  university,  very  superior  and 
verv  voluble  —  all  these  people  and  more 
also  you  might  find  in  the  white  room. 
Wali  Dad  lay  in  the  window-seat  and 
listened  to  the  talk. 

"  It  is  Lalun's  salon,"  said  Wali  Dad  to 
me,  "  and  it  is  eclectic  —  is  not  that  the 
word?  Outside  of  a  Freemason's  lodge  I 
have  never  seen  such  gatherings.  There 
I  dined  once  with  a  Jew  —  a  Yahoudi ! " 
He  spat  into  the  city  ditch  with  apologies 
for  allowing  national  feelings  to  overcome 
him.  "  Though  I  have  lost  every  belief 
in  the  world,"  said  he,  "  and  try  to  be  proud 
of  my  losing,  I  can  not  help  hating  a  Jew. 
Lalun  admits  no  Jews  here." 

"  But  what  in  the  world  do  all  these  men 
do?"  I  asked. 

"The  curse  of  our  country,"  said  Wali 
Dad.  "They  talk.  It  is  like  the  Atheni- 
ans —  always  hearing  and  telling  some  new 
thing.  Ask  the  Pearl  and  she  will  show 
you  how  much  she  knows  of  the  news  of 
the  city  and  the  province.  Lalun  knows 
everything." 

"  Lalun,"  I  said  at  random  —  she  was. 
talking  to  a  gentleman  of  the  Kurd  per- 


130       in  Black  and  White 

suasion  who  had  come  in  from  God  knows 
where — "when  does  the  175th  Regiment 
go  to  Agra?" 

"  It  does  not  go  at  all,"  said  Lalun,  with- 
out turning  her  head.  '*  They  have  ordered 
the  1 1 8th  to  go  in  its  stead.  That  regiment 
goes  to  Lucknow  in  three  months  unless 
they  give  a  fresh  order."   • 

"That  is  so,"  said  Wali  Dad,  without  a 
shade  of  doubt.  "  Can  you,  with  your  tele- 
grams and  your  newspapers,  do  better? 
Always  hearing  and  telling  some  new 
thing,"  he  went  on.  "  My  friend,  has  your 
God  ever  smitten  a  European  nation  for 
gossiping  in  the  bazaars?  India  has  gos- 
siped for  centuries  —  always  standing  in 
the  bazaars  until  the  soldiers  go  by. 
Therefore  .  .  .  you  are  here  to-day  in- 
stead of  starving  in  your  own  country,  and 
I  am  not  a  Mohammedan  —  I  am  a  product 
—  a  '  demnition  '  product.  That  also  I  owe 
to  you  and  yours;  that  I  can  not  make  an 
end  to  any  sentence  without  quoting  from 
your  authors."  He  pulled  at  the  hiiqa  and 
mourned,  half  feelingly,  half  in  earnest,  for 
the  shattered  hopes  of  his  youth.  Wali 
Dad  was  always  mourning  over  something 
or  other  —  the  country  of  which  he  de- 
spaired, or  the  creed  in  which  he  had  lost 
faith,  or  the  life  of  the  English  which  he 
could  by  no  means  understand. 

Lalun  never  mourned.     She  played  little 


On  the  City  Wall         1 3 1 

songs  on  the  sifar,  and  to  hear  her  sing, 
"  Oh,  Peacock,  Cry  Again,"  was  always  a 
fresh  pleasure.  She  knew  all  the  songs 
that  have  ever  been  sung,  from  the  war- 
songs  of  the  south  that  make  the  old  men 
angry  with  the  young  men  and  the  young 
men  angry  with  the  state,  to  the  love  songs 
of  the  north  where  the  swords  whinny- 
whicker  like  angry  kites  in  the  pauses  be- 
tween the  kisses,  and  the  passes  fill  with 
armed  men,  and  the  lover  is  torn  from  his 
beloved  and  cries  At!  Ai!  At!  evermore. 
She  knew  how  to  make  up  tobacco  for  the 
hiiqa  so  that  it  smelled  like  the  gates  of 
paradise  and  wafted  you  gently  through 
them.  She  could  embroider  strange  things 
in  gold  and  silver,  and  dance  softly  with  the 
moonlight  when  it  came  in  at  the  window. 
Also  she  knew  the  hearts  of  men,  and  the 
heart  of  the  city,  and  whose  wives  were 
faithful  and  whose  untrue,  and  more  of 
the  secrets  of  the  government  offices  than 
are  good  to  be  set  down  in  this  place.  Nasi- 
ban,  her  maid,  said  that  her  jewelry  was 
w^orth  ten  thousand  pounds,  and  that, 
some  night,  a  thief  would  enter  and  murder 
her  for  its  possession;  but  Lalun  said  that 
all  the  city  would  tear  that  thief  limb  from 
limb,  and  that  he,  whoever  he  was,  knew  it. 
So  she  took  her  sitai'  and  sat  in  the  win- 
dow-seat and  sung  a  song  of  old  days  that 
had  been  sung  by  a  girl  of  her  profession  in 


132       In  Black  and  White 

an  armed  camp  on  the  eve  of  a  great  battle 

—  the  day  before  the  fords  of  the  Jumna 
ran  red  and  Sivaji  fled  fifty  miles  to  Delhi 
with  a  Toorkh  stallion  at  his  horse's  tail 
and  another  Lalun  on  his  saddle-bow.  It 
was  what  men  call  a  Mahratta  laonec,  and  it 
said: 

Their  warrior  forces  Chimnajee 

Before  the  Peishwa  led, 
The  Children  of  the  Sun  and  Fire 

Behind  him  turned  and  fled. 

And  the  chorus  said: 

With  them  there  fought  who  rides  so  free 

With  sword  and  turban  red, 
The  warrior-youth  who  earns  his  fee 

At  peril  of  his  head. 

"  At  peril  of  his  head,"  said  Wali  Dad  in 
English  to  me.  "  Thanks  to  your  govern- 
ment, all  our  heads  are  protected,  and  with 
the  educational  facilities  at  my  command  " 

—  his  eyes  twinkled  wickedly  — "  I  might 
be  a  distinguished  member  of  the  local  ad- 
ministration. Perhaps,  in  time,  I  might 
even  be  a  member  of  a  legislative  council." 

"  Don't  speak  English,"  said  Lalun,  bend- 
ing over  her  sifar  afresh.  The  chorus  went 
out  from  the  city  wall  to  the  blackened  wall 
of  Fort  Amara  which  dominates  the  city. 
No  man  knows  the  precise  extent  of  Fort 
Amara.  Three  kings  built  it  hundreds  of 
years  ago,  and  they  say  that  there  are  miles 


On  the  City  Wall         133 

of  underground  rooms  beneath  its  walls. 
It  is  peopled  with  many  ghosts,  a  detach- 
ment of  garrison  artillery  and  a  company 
of  infantry.  In  its  prime  it  held  ten  thou- 
sand men  and  filled  its  ditches  with  corpses. 

*'  At  peril  of  his  head,"  sung  Lalun  again 
and  again. 

A  head  moved  on  one  of  the  ramparts  — 
the  gray  head  of  an  old  man  —  and  a  voice, 
rough  as  shark-skin  on  a  sword-hilt,  sent 
back  the  last  line  of  the  chorus  and  broke 
into  a  song  that  I  could  not  understand, 
though  Lalun  and  Wali  Dad  listened 
intentlv. 

"What  is  it?"  I  asked.     "Who  is  it?'' 

"  A  consistent  man,"  said  Wali  Dad. 
"  He  fought  you  in  '46,  when  he  was  a 
warrior-youth;  refought  you  in  '57,  and  he 
tried  to  fight  you  in  '71,  but  you  had 
learned  the  trick  of  blowing  men  from  guns 
too  well.  Now  he  is  old;  but  he  would 
still  fight  if  he  could." 

"  Is  he  a  Wahabi,  then?  Why  should 
he  answer  to  a  Mahratta  laoiice  if  he  be 
W^ahabi  — or  Sihk?"  said  I. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  Wali  Dad.  "  He 
has  lost,  perhaps,  his  religion.  Perhaps  he 
wishes  to  be  a  king.  Perhaps  he  is  a  king. 
I  do  not  know  his  name." 

"  That  is  a  lie,  W^ali  Dad.  If  you  know 
his  career  you  must  know  his  name." 

"  That  is  quite  true.     I  belong  to  a  na- 


134       In  Black  and  White 

tion  of  liars.  I  would  rather  not  tell  you 
his  name.     Think  for  yourself." 

Lalun  finished  her  song,  pointed  to  the 
fort  and  said  simply:     "  Khem  Singh." 

"  H'm,"  said  Wali  Dad.  "  If  the  Pearl 
chooses  to  tell  you  the  Pearl  is  a  fool." 

I  translated  to  Lalun,  who  laughed.  "  I 
choose  to  tell  what  I  choose  to  tell.  They 
kept  Khem  Singh  in  Burmah,"  said  she. 
"  They  kept  him  there  for  many  years  until 
his  mind  was  changed  in  him.  So  great 
was  the  kindness  of  the  government. 
Finding  this,  they  sent  him  back  to  his  own 
country  that  he  might  look  upon  it  before 
he  died.  He  is  an  old  man,  but  when  he 
looks  upon  this  his  country  his  memory 
will  come.  Moreover,  there  be  many  who 
remember  him." 

'  He  is  an  interesting  survival,"  said 
Wali  Dad,  pulling  at  the  Imqa.  "  He  re- 
turns to  a  country  now  full  of  educational 
and  political  reform,  but,  as  the  Pearl  says, 
there  are  many  who  remember  him.  He 
was  once  a  great  man.  There  will  never 
be  any  more  great  men  in  India.  They 
will  all,  when  they  are  boys,  go  whoring 
after  strange  gods,  and  they  will  become 
citizens  —  '  fellow-citizens  '  —  *  illustrious 
fellow-citizens.'  What  is  it  that  the  native 
papers  call  them?  " 

Wali  Dad  seemed  to  be  in  a  very  bad 
temper.     Lalun  looked  out  of  the  window 


On  the  City  Wall         135 

and  smiled  into  the  dust-haze.  I  went 
away  thinking  about  Khem  Singh  who  had 
once  made  history  with  a  thousand  follow- 
ers, and  would  have  been  a  princeling  but 
for  the  power  of  the  supreme  government 
aforesaid. 

The  senior  captain  commanding  Fort 
Amara  was  away  on  leave,  but  the  subal- 
tern, his  deputy,  had  drifted  down  to  the 
club,  where  I  found  him  and  inquired  of 
him  whether  it  was  really  true  that  a  politi- 
cal prisoner  had  been  added  to  the  attrac- 
tions of  the  fort.  The  subaltern  explained 
at  great  length,  for  this  was  the  first  time 
that  he  had  held  command  of  the  fort  and 
his  glory  lay  heavy  upon  him. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  ''  a  man  was  sent  in  to 
me  about  a  week  ago  from  down  the  line 
—  a  thorough  gentleman  whoever  he  is. 
Of  course  I  did  all  I  could  for  him.  He 
had  his  two  servants  and  some  silver  cook- 
ing-pots, and  he  looked  for  all  the  world 
like  a  native  officer.  I  called  him  Subadar 
Sahib;  just  as  well  to  be  on  the  safe  side, 
y'know.  *  Look  here,  Subadar  Sahib,'  I 
said,  '  you're  handed  over  to  my  authority, 
and  I'm  supposed  to  guard  you.  Now  I 
don't  want  to  make  your  life  hard,  but  you 
must  make  things  easy  for  me.  All  the 
fort  is  at  your  disposal,  from  the  flagstaff 
to  the  dry  ditch,  and  I  shall  be  happy  to 
entertain  you  in  any  way  I  can,  but  you 


136       In  Black  and  White 

mustn't  take  advantage  of  it.  Give  me 
your  word  that  you  won't  try  to  escape, 
Subadar  Sahib,  and  I'll  give  you  my  word 
that  you  shall  have  no  heavy  guard  put 
over  you/  I  thought  the  best  way  of  get- 
ting at  him  was  by  going  at  him  straight, 
y'know;  and  it  was,  by  Jove!  The  old 
man  gave  me  his  word,  and  moved  about 
the  fort  as  contented  as  a  sick  crow.  He's 
a  rummy  chap  —  always  asking  to  be  told 
where  he  is  and  what  the  buildings  about 
him  are.  I  had  to  sign  a  slip  of  blue  paper 
when  he  turned  up,  acknowledging  receipt 
of  his  body  and  all  that,  and  I'm  responsi- 
ble, y'know,  that  he  doesn't  get  away. 
Queer  thing,  though,  looking  after  a  John- 
nie old  enough  to  be  your  grandfather, 
isn't  it?  Come  to  the  fort  one  of  these  days 
and  see  him?" 

For  reasons  which  will  appear,  I  never 
went  to  the  fort  while  Khem  Singh  was 
then  within  its  walls.  I  knew  him  only  as 
a  gray  head  seen  from  Lalun's  window  — 
a  gray  head  and  a  harsh  voice.  But  na- 
tives told  me  that,  day  by  day,  as  he  looked 
upon  the  fair  lands  round  Amara,  his  mem- 
ory came  back  to  him  and,  with  it,  the  old 
hatred  against  the  government  that  had 
been  nearly  efifaced  in  far-off  Burmah.  So 
he  raged  up  and  down  the  west  face  of  the 
fort  from  morning  till  noon  and  from 
evening  till  the  night,  devising  vain  things 


On  the  City  Wall         137 

in  his  heart  and  croaking  war-songs  when 
Lalun  sung  on  the  city  walls.  As  he  grew 
more  acquainted  with  the  subaltern  he  un- 
burdened his  old  heart  of  some  of  the 
passions  that  had  withered  it.  ''  Sahib," 
he  used  to  say,  tapping  his  stick  against 
the  parapet,  ''  when  I  was  a  young  man  I 
was  one  of  twenty  thousand  horsemen  who 
came  out  of  the  city  and  rode  round  the 
plain  here.  Sahib,  I  was  the  leader  of  a 
hundred,  then  of  a  thousand,  then  of  five 
thousand,  and  now!" — he  pointed  to  his 
two  servants.  ''  But  from  the  beginning  to 
to-day  I  would  cut  the  throats  of  all  the 
sahibs  in  the  land  if  I  could.  Hold  me 
fast,  sahib,  lest  I  get  away  and  return  to 
those  who  would  follow  me.  I  forgot 
them  when  I  was  in  Burmah,  but  now  that 
I  am  in  my  own  country  again,  I  remem- 
ber everything." 

'*  Do  you  remember  that  you  have  given 
me  your  honor  not  to  make  your  tendance 
a  hard  matter?  "  said  the  subaltern. 

"  Yes,  to  you,  only  to  you,  sahib,"  said 
Khem  Singh.  "  To  you  because  you  are 
of  a  pleasant  countenance.  If  my  turn 
comes  again,  sahib,  I  will  not  hang  you 
nor  cut  your  throat." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  the  subaltern, 
gravely,  as  he  looked  along  the  line  of 
guns  that  could  pound  the  city  to  powder 
in  half  an  hour.     "  Let  us  go  into  our  own 


138       In  Black  and  White 

quarters,    Khem    Singh.     Come    and    talk 
with  me  after  dinner." 

Khem  Singh  would  sit  on  his  own  cush- 
ion at  the  subaltern's  feet,  drinking  heavy, 
scented  anise-seed  brandy  in  great  gulps, 
and  telling  strange  stories  of  Fort  Amara, 
which  had  been  a  palace,  in  the  old  days, 
of  begums  and  ranees  tortured  to  death  — 
ay,  in  the  very  vaulted  chamber  that  now 
served  as  a  mess-room;  would  tell  stories 
of  Sobraon  that  made  the  subaltern's 
cheeks  flush  and  tingle  with  pride  of  race, 
and  of  the  Kuka  rising  from  which  so 
much  was  expected  and  the  foreknowledge 
of  which  was  shared  by  a  hundred  thou- 
sand souls.  But  he  never  told  tales  of  '57 
because,  as  he  said,  he  was  the  subaltern's 
guest,  and  '57  is  a  year  that  no  man,  black 
or  white,  cares  to  speak  of.  Once  only, 
when  the  anise-seed  brandy  had  slightly 
affected  his  head,  he  said:  "  Sahib,  speak- 
ing now  of  a  matter  which  lay  between 
Sobraon  and  the  affair  of  the  Kukas,  it  was 
ever  a  wonder  to  us  that  you  stayed  your 
hand  at  all,  and  that,  having  stayed  it,  you 
did  not  make  the  land  one  prison.  Now 
I  hear  from  without  that  you  do  great 
honor  to  all  men  of  our  country  and  by 
your  own  hands  are  destroying  the  terror 
of  your  name  which  is  your  strong  rock 
and  defense.  This  is  a  foolish  thing.  Will 
oil  and  water  mix?     Now  in  '57 — " 


On  the  City  Wall         139 

"  I  was  not  born  then,  Subadar  Sahib," 
said  the  subaltern,  and  Khem  Singh  reeled 
to  his  quarters. 

The  subaltern  would  tell  me  of  these  con- 
versations at  the  club,  and  my  desire  to 
see  Khem  Singh  increased.  But  Wali  Dad, 
sitting  in  the  window-seat  of  the  house  on 
the  city  wall,  said  that  it  would  be  a  cruel 
thing  to  do,  and  Lalun  pretended  that  I 
preferred  the  society  of  a  grizzled  old  Sikh 
to  hers. 

'*  Here  is  tobacco,  here  is  talk,  here  are 
many  friends  and  all  the  news  of  the  city, 
and,  above  all,  here  is  myself.  I  will  tell 
you  stories  and  sing  you  songs,  and  Wali 
Dad  will  talk  his  English  nonsense  in  your 
ears.  Is  that  worse  than  watching  the 
caged  animal  yonder?  Go  to-morrow 
then,  if  you  must,  but  to-day  such  and  such 
a  one  will  be  here,  and  he  will  speak  of 
wonderful  things." 

It  happened  that  to-morrow  never  came, 
and  the  warm  heat  of  the  latter  rains  gave 
place  to  the  chill  of  early  October  almost 
before  I  was  aware  of  the  flight  of  the  year. 
The  captain  commanding  the  fort  returned 
from  leave  and  took  charge  of  Khem  Singh 
according  to  the  laws  of  seniority.  The 
captain  was  not  a  nice  man.  He  called  all 
natives  "  niggers,"  which,  besides  being 
extreme  bad  form,  shows  gross  ignorance. 


140       In  Black  and  White 

"  What's  the  use  of  telhng  off  two  Tom- 
mies to  watch  that  old  nigger?  "  said  he. 

''  I  fancy  it  soothes  his  vanity,"  said  the 
subaltern.  '*  The  men  are  ordered  to  keep 
well  out  of  his  way,  but  he  takes  them  as  a 
tribute  to  his  importance,  poor  old  beast." 
''  I  won't  have  line  men  taken  off  regu- 
lar guards  in  this  way.  Put  on  a  couple  of 
native  infantry." 

''Sikhs?"  said  the  subaltern,  lifting  his 
eyebrows. 

''  Sikhs,  Pathans,  Dogras  —  they're  all 
alike,  these  black  vermin,''  and  the  captain 
talked  to  Khem  Singh  in  a  manner  which 
hurt  that  old  gentleman's  feelings.  Fifteen 
years  before,  when  he  had  been  caught  for 
the  second  time,  every  one  looked  upon 
him  as  a  sort  of  tiger.  He  liked  being  re- 
garded in  this  light.  But  he  forgot  that 
the  world  goes  forward  in  fifteen  years,  and 
many  subalterns  are  promoted  to  cap- 
taincies. 

'*  The  captain-pig  is  in  charge  of  the 
fort?"  said  Khem  Singh  to  his  native 
guard  every  morning.  And  the  native 
guard  said:  *' Yes,  Subadar  Sahib,"  in 
deference  to  his  age  and  his  air  of  distinc- 
tion; but  they  did  not  know  who  he  was. 

In  those  days  the  gathering  in  Lalun's 
little  white  room  was  always  large  and 
talked  more  mightily  than  before. 

"  The  Greeks,"  said  Wall  Dad  who  had 


On  the  City  Wall         141 

been  borrowing  my  books,  "  the  inhabit- 
ants of  the  city  of  Athens,  where  they  were 
always  hearing  and  telHng  some  new 
thing,  rigorously  secluded  their  women  — 
who  were  mostly  fools.  Hence  the  glori- 
ous institution  of  the  heterodox  women  — 
is  it  not?  —  w^ho  were  amusing  and  not 
fools.  All  the  Greek  philosophers  de- 
lighted in  their  company.  Tell  me,  my 
friend,  how  it  goes  now  in  Greece  and  the 
other  places  upon  the  Continent  of  Europe. 
Are  your  women-folk  also  fools?" 

"  Wali  Dad,"  I  said,  ''  you  never  speak 
to  us  about  your  women-folk  and  we  never 
speak  about  ours  to  you.  That  is  the  bar 
between  us." 

"  Yes,"  said  Wali  Dad,  ''  it  is  curious  to 
think  that  our  common  meeting-place 
should  be  here,  in  the  house  of  a  common 
—  how  do  you  call  her?"  He  pointed 
with  the  pipe-mouth  to  Lalun. 

''  Lalun  is  nothing  else  but  Lalun,"  1 
said,  and  that  was  perfectly  true.  ''  But  if 
you  took  your  place  in  the  world,  Wali 
Dad,  and  gave  up  dreaming  dreams  — " 

"  I  might  wear  an  English  coat  and 
trousers.  I  might  be  a  leading  Moham- 
medan pleader.  I  might  even  be  received 
at  the  commissioner's  tennis-parties  where 
the  English  stand  on  one  side  and  the  na- 
tives on  the  other,  in  order  to  promote 
social  intercourse  throughout  the  empire. 


142       In  Black  and  White 

Heart's  heart,"  said  he  to  Lalun,  quickly, 
"  the  sahib  says  that  I  ought  to  quit  you." 

''  The  sahib  is  always  talking  stupid 
talk,"  returned  Lalun  with  a  laugh.  ''  In 
this  house  I  am  a  queen  and  thou  art  a 
king.  The  sahib " —  she  put  her  arms 
above  her  head  and  thought  for  a  mo- 
ment — "  the  sahib  shall  be  our  vizier  — 
thine  and  mine,  Wali  Dad,  because  he  has 
said  that  thou  shouldst  leave  me." 

Wali  Dad  laughed  immoderately,  and  1 
laughed  too.  "  Be  it  so,"  said  he.  ''  My 
friend,  are  you  willing  to  take  this  lucra- 
tive government  appointment?  Lalun, 
what  shall  his  pay  be?  " 

But  Lalun  began  to  sing,  and  for  the 
rest  of  the  time  there  was  no  hope  of  get- 
ting a  sensible  answer  from  her  or  Wali 
Dad.  Wlien  the  one  stopped,  the  other 
began  to  quote  Persian  poetry  with  a  triple 
pun  in  every  other  line.  Some  of  it  was 
not  strictly  proper,  but  it  was  all  very 
funny,  and  it  only  came  to  an  end  when  a 
fat  person  in  black,  with  gold  pince-nez, 
sent  up  his  name  to  Lalun,  and  Wali  Dad 
dragged  me  into  the  twinkling  night  to 
walk  in  a  big  rose  garden  and  talk  here- 
sies about  religion  and  governments  and 
a  man's  career  in  life. 

The  Mohurrum,  the  great  mourning  fes- 
tival of  the  Mohammedans,  was  close  at 
hand,  and  the  things  that  Wali  Dad  said 


On  the  City  Wall         143 

about  religious  fanaticism  would  have  se- 
cured his  expulsion  from  the  loosest-think- 
ing Moslem  sect.  There  were  the  rose 
bushes  round  us,  the  stars  above  us,  and 
from  every  quarter  of  the  city  came  the 
boom  of  the  big  Mohurrum  drums.  You 
must  know  that  the  city  is  divided  in  fairly 
equal  proportions  between  the  Hindoos 
and  the  Mussulmans,  and  when  both 
creeds  belong  to  the  fighting  races,  a  big 
religious  festival  gives  ample  chance  for 
trouble.  When  they  can  —  that  is  to  say 
when  the  authorities  are  weak  enough  to 
allow  it  —  the  Hindoos  do  their  best  to 
arrange  some  minor  feast-day  of  their  own 
in  time  to  clash  with  the  period  of  general 
mourning  for  the  martyrs  Hasan  and  Hus- 
sain,  the  heroes  of  the  Mohurrum.  Gilt 
and  painted  paper  presentations  of  their 
tombs  are  borne  with  shouting  and  wail- 
ing, music,  torches  and  yells,  through  the 
principal  thoroughfares  of  the  city;  which 
fakements  are  called  tazias.  Their  passage 
is  rigorously  laid  down  beforehand  by  the 
police,  and  detachments  of  police  accom- 
pany each  tazia,  lest  the  Hindoos  should 
throw  bricks  at  it  and  the  peace  of  the 
queen  and  the  heads  of  her  loyal  subjects 
should  thereby  be  broken.  Mohurrum 
time  in  a  "  fighting  "  town  means  anxiety 
to  all  the  officials,  because,  if  a  riot  breaks 
out,  the  officials   and  not  the  rioters   are 


144      I^  Black  and  White 

held  responsible.  The  former  must  fore- 
see everything,  and  while  not  making  their 
precautions  ridiculously  elaborate,  must 
see  that  they  are  at  least  adequate. 

"  Listen  to  the  drums  "!  said  Wali  Dad. 
"  That  is  the  heart  of  the  people  —  empty 
and  making  much  noise.  How,  think  you, 
will  the  Mohurrum  go  this  year?  I  think 
that  there  will  be  trouble." 

He  turned  down  a  side-street  and  left  me 
alone  with  the  stars  and  a  sleepy  police 
patrol.  Then  I  went  to  bed  and  dreamed 
that  Wali  Dad  had  sacked  the  city  and  I 
was  made  vizier,  with  Lalun's  silver  huqa 
for  mark  of  office. 

All  day  the  Mohurrum  drums  beat  in 
the  city,  and  all  day  deputations  of  tearful 
Hindoo  gentlemen  besieged  the  deputy 
commissioner  with  assurances  that  they 
would  be  murdered  ere  next  dawning  by 
the  Mohammedans.  "  Which,"  said  the 
deputy  commissioner,  in  confidence  to  the 
head  of  police,  "  is  a  pretty  fair  indication 
that  the  Hindoos  are  going  to  make  'em- 
selves  unpleasant.  I  think  we  can  arrange 
a  little  surprise  for  them.  I  have  given 
the  heads  of  both  creeds  fair  warning.  If 
they  choose  to  disregard  it,  so  much  the 
worse  for  them." 

There  was  a  large  gathering  in  Lalun's 
house  that  night,  but  of  men  that  I  had 
never  seen  before,  if  I  except  the  fat  gentle- 


On  the  City  Wall         145 

man  in  black  with  the  gold  pince-nez, 
Wali  Dad  lay  in  the  window-seat,  more  bit- 
terly scornful  of  his  faith  and  its  manifesta- 
tions than  I  had  ever  known  him.  Lahm's 
maid  was  very  busy  cutting  up  and  mixing 
tobacco  for  the  guests.  We  could  hear 
the  thunder  of  the  drums  as  the  proces- 
sions accompanying  each  tazia  marched  to 
the  central  gathering  place  in  the  plain 
outside  the  city,  preparatory  to  their  tri- 
umphant re-entry  and  circuit  within  the 
walls.  All  the  streets  seemed  ablaze  with 
torches,  and  only  Fort  Amara  was  black 
and  silent. 

When  the  noise  of  the  drums  ceased,  no 
one  in  the  white  room  spoke  for  a  time. 
''  The  first  tazia  has  moved  off,"  said  Wali 
Dad,  looking  to  the  plain. 

"  That  is  very  early,"  said  the  man  with 
the  pince-nez.  ''  It  is  only  half  past  eight." 
The  company  rose  and  departed. 

"  Some  of  them  were  men  from  Ladakh," 
said  Lalun,  when  the  last  had  gone.  "  They 
brought  me  brick-tea  such  as  the  Russians 
sell,  and  a  tea-urn  from  Peshawur.  Show 
me,  now,  how  the  English  memsahibs  make 
tea." 

The  brick-tea  was  abominable.  When  it 
was  finished  Wali  Dad  suggested  a  descent 
into  the  streets.  "  I  am  nearly  sure  that 
there  will  be  trouble  to-night,"  he  said. 
"  All  the  city  thinks  so,  and  Vox  Populi  is 


146       In  Black  and  White 

Vox  Deiy  as  the  Babus  say.  Now  I  tell 
you  that  at  the  corner  of  the  Padshahi  Gate 
you  will  find  my  horse  all  this  night  if  you 
want  to  go  about  and  to  see  things.  It  is 
a  most  disgraceful  exhibition.  Where  is 
the  pleasure  of  saying  '  Ya  Hasan,  Ya  Hiis- 
sain'  twenty  thousand  times  in  a  night?" 

All  the  professions  —  there  were  two- 
and-twenty  of  them  —  were  now  well 
within  the  city  walls.  The  drums  were 
beating  afresh,  the  crowd  were  howling 
"  Ya  Hasan!  Ya  Hiissain!"  and  beating 
their  breasts,  the  brass  bands  were  playing 
their  loudest,  and  at  every  corner  where 
space  allowed  Mohammedan  preachers 
were  telling  the  lamentable  story  of  the 
death  of  the  martyrs.  It  was  impossible  to 
move  except  with  the  crowd,  for  the  streets 
were  not  more  than  twenty  feet  wide.  In 
the  Hindoo  quarters  the  shutters  of  all  the 
shops  were  up  and  cross-barred.  As  the 
first  tada,  a  gorgeous  erection  ten  feet  high, 
was  borne  aloft  on  the  shoulders  of  a  score 
of  stout  men  into  the  semi-darkness  of  the 
gully  of  the  horsemen,  a  brickbat  crashed 
through  its  talc  and  tinsel  sides. 

"  Into  Thy  hands,  oh,  Lord!  "  murmured 
Wali  Dad,  profanely,  as  a  yell  went  up  from 
behind,  and  a  native  officer  of  police 
jammed  his  horse  through  the  crowd.  An- 
other brickbat  followed,  and  the  tasia  stag- 
gered and  swayed  where  it  had  stopped. 


On  the  City  Wall         147 

"  Go  on !  In  the  name  of  the  Sirkar,  go 
forward!  "  shouted  the  policeman,  but  there 
was  an  ugly  cracking  and  splintering  of 
shutters,  and  the  crowd  halted,  with  oaths 
and  growlings,  before  the  house  whence 
the  brickbat  had  been  thrown. 

Then,  without  any  warning,  broke  the 
storm  —  not  only  in  the  gully  of  the  horse- 
men, but  in  half  a  dozen  other  places.  The 
tazias  rocked  like  ships  at  sea,  the  long 
pole-torches  dipped  and  rose  round  them 
while  the  men  shouted:  "The  Hindoos  are 
dishonoring  the  tazias!  Strike!  Strike! 
Into  their  temples  for  the  faith !  "  The  six 
or  eight  policemen  with  each  tazia  drew 
their  batons,  and  struck  as  long  as  they 
could  in  the  hope  of  forcing  the  mob  for- 
ward, but  they  were  overpowered,  and  as 
contingents  of  Hindoos  poured  into  ^the 
streets,  the  fight  became  general.  Half  a 
mile  away  where  the  tazias  were  yet  un- 
touched the  drums  and  the  shrieks  of  "  Ya 
Hasan!  Ya  Hiissain!"  continued,  but  not 
for  long.  The  priests  at  the  corners  of  the 
streets  knocked  the  legs  from  the  bedsteads 
that  supported  their  pulpits  and  smote  for 
the  faith,  while  stones  fell  from  the  silent 
houses  upon  friend  and  foe,  and  the  packed 
streets  bellowed:  ''Din!  Din!  Din!''  A 
tazia  caught  fire,  and  was  dropped  for  a 
flaming  barrier  between  Hindoo  and  Mus- 
sulman at  the  corner  of  the  gully.     Then 


148      In  Black  and  White 

the  crowd  surged  forward,  and  Wall  Dad 
drew  me  close  to  the  stone  pillar  of  a  well. 

''It  was  intended  from  the  beginning!" 
he  shouted  in  my  ear,  with  more  heat  than 
blank  unbelief  should  be  guilty  of.  "  The 
bricks  were  carried  up  to  the  houses  before- 
hand. These  swine  of  Hindoos!  We  shall 
be  gutting  kine  in  their  temples  to-night!  " 

Tazia  after  tazia,  some  burning,  others 
torn  to  pieces,  hurried  past  us  and  the  mob 
with  them,  howling,  shrieking,  and  striking 
at  the  house  doors  in  their  flight.  At  last 
we  saw  the  reason  of  the  rush.  Hugonin, 
the  assivStant  district  superintendent  of  po- 
lice, a  boy  of  twenty,  had  got  together 
thirty  constables  and  was  forcing  the  crowd 
through  the  streets.  His  old  gray  police- 
horse  showed  no  sign  of  uneasiness  as  it 
was  spurred  breast-on  into  the  crowd,  and 
the  long  dog-whip  with  which  he  had 
armed  himself  was  never  still. 

"  They  know  we  haven't  enough  police 
to  hold  'em,"  he  cried  as  he  passed  me, 
mopping  a  cut  on  his  face.  "They  know 
we  haven't!  Aren't  any  of  the  men  from 
the  club  coming  down  to  help?  Get  on, 
you  sons  of  burned  fathers!"  The  dog- 
whip  cracked  afresh  across  the  writhing 
backs,  and  the  constables  smote  afresh  with 
baton  and  gun-butt.  With  these  passed  the 
lights  and  the  shouting,  and  Wali  Dad  be- 
gan to  swear  under  his  breath.     From  Fort 


On  the  City  Wall         149 

Amara  shot  up  a  single  rocket;  then  two 
side  by  side.     It  was  the  signal  for  troops. 

Pettit,  the  deputy  commissioner,  covered 
with  dust  and  sweat,  but  calm  and  gently 
smiling,  cantered  up  the  clean-swept  street 
in  the  rear  of  the  main  body  of  the  rioters. 
"No  one  killed  yet,"  he  shouted.  "I'll 
keep  'em  on  the  run  till  dawn!  Don't  let 
'em  halt,  Hugonin!  Trot  'em  about  till  the 
troops  come." 

The  science  of  the  defense  lay  solely  in 
keeping  the  mob  on  the  move.  If  they  had 
breathing-space  they  would  halt  and  fire  a 
house,  and  then  the  work  of  restoring  order 
would  be  more  difficult,  to  say  the  least  of 
it.  Flames  have  the  same  effect  on  a  crowd 
as  blood  has  on  a  wild  beast. 

Word  had  reached  the  club  and  men  in 
evening-dress  were  beginning  to  show 
themselves  and  lend  a  hand  in  heading  ofif 
and  breaking  up  the  shouting  masses  with 
stirrup-leathers,  whips,  or  chance-found 
staves.  They  were  not  very  often  attacked, 
for  the  rioters  had  sense  enough  to  know 
that  the  death  of  a  European  would  not 
mean  one  hanging  but  many,  and  possibly 
the  appearance  of  the  thrice-dreaded  artil- 
lery. The  clamor  in  the  city  redoubled. 
The  Hindoos  had  descended  into  the  streets 
in  real  earnest  and  ere  long  the  mob  re- 
turned. It  was  a  strange  sight.  There 
were  no  tasias  —  only  their  riven  platforms 


150       In  Black  and  White 

—  and  there  were  no  police.  Here  and 
there  a  city  dignitary,  Hindoo  or  Moham- 
medan, was  vainly  imploring  his  coreligion- 
ists to  keep  quiet  and  behave  themselves  — 
advice  for  which  his  white  beard  was  pulled 
with  contumely.  Then  a  native  officer  of 
police,  unhorsed  but  still  using  his  spurs 
with  effect,  would  be  seen  borne  along  in 
the  throng,  warning  all  the  world  of  the 
danger  of  insulting  the  government. 
Everywhere  were  men  striking  aimlessly 
with  sticks,  grasping  each  otlier  by  the 
throat,  howling  and  foaming  with  rage,  or 
beating  with  their  bare  hands  on  the  doors 
of  the  houses. 

"  It  is  a  lucky  thing  that  they  are  fighting 
with  natural  weapons,"  I  said  to  Wali  Dad, 
"  else  we  should  have  half  the  city  killed." 

I  turned  as  I  spoke  and  looked  at  -his 
face.  His  nostrils  were  distended,  his  eyes 
were  fixed,  and  he  was  smiting  himself 
softly  on  the  breast.  The  crowd  poured  by 
with  renewed  riot  —  a  gang  of  Mussulmans 
hard-pressed  by  some  hundred  Hindoo  fan- 
atics. Wali  Dad  left  my  side  with  an  oath, 
and  shouting:  "  Ya  Hasan!  Ya  Hussain!" 
plunged  into  the  thick  of  the  fight  where  I 
lost  sight  of  him. 

I  fled  by  a  side  alley  to  the  Padshahi  Gate 
where  I  found  Wali  Dad's  house,  and 
thence  rode  to  the  fort.  Once  outside  the 
city  wall,  the  tumult  sunk  to  a  dull  roar, 


On  the  City  Wall         151 

very  impressive  under  the  stars  and  reflect- 
ing great  credit  on  the  fifty  thousand  able- 
bodied  men  who  were  making  it.  The 
troops  who,  at  the  deputy  commissioners 
instance,  had  been  ordered  to  rendezvous 
quietly  near  the  fort,  showed  no  signs  of 
being  impressed.  Two  companies  of  na- 
tive infantry  and  a  squadron  of  na- 
tive cavalry  and  a  company  of  British 
infantry  were  kicking  their  heels  in  the 
shadow  of  the  east  face,  waiting  for  orders 
to  march  in.  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  they 
were  all  pleased,  unholily  pleased,  at  the 
chance  of  what  they  called  "  a  little  fun." 
The  senior  officers,  to  be  sure,  grumbled 
at  having  been  kept  out  of  bed,  and  the 
English  troops  pretended  to  be  sulky,  but 
there  was  joy  in  the  hearts  of  all  the  sub- 
alterns, and  whispers  ran  up  and  down  the 
line:  "No  ball  cartridge  —  what  a  beastly 
shame!"  "  D'you  think  the  beggars  will 
really  stand  up  to  us?"  "Hope  I  shall 
meet  my  money-lender  there.  I  owe  him 
more  than  I  can  afford."  "  Oh,  they  won't 
let  us  even  unsheath  swords."  ''  Hurrah ! 
Up  goes  the  fourth  rocket.  Fall  in,  there!  " 
The  garrison  artillery,  who  to  the  last 
cherished  a  wild  hope  that  they  might  be 
allowed  to  bombard  the  city  at  a  hundred 
yards'  range,  lined  the  parapet  above  the 
east  gateway  and  cheered  themselves 
hoarse    as    the    British    infantry    doubled 


152       In  Black  and  White 

along  the  road  to  the  main  gate  of  the  city. 
The  cavalry  cantered  on  to  the  Padshahi 
Gate,  and  the  native  infantry  marched 
slowly  to  the  Gate  of  the  Butchers.  The 
surprise  was  intended  to  be  of  a  distinctly 
unpleasant  nature,  and  to  come  on  top  of 
the  defeat  of  the  police  who  had  been  just 
able  to  keep  the  Mohammedans  from  firing 
the  houses  of  a  few  leading  Hindoos. 
The  bulk  of  the  riot  lay  in  the  north  and 
north-west  wards.  The  east  and  south- 
east were  by  this  time  dark  and  silent,  and 
I  rode  hastily  to  Lalun's  house,  for  I 
wished  to  tell  her  to  send  some  one  in 
search  of  Wali  Dad.  The  house  was  un- 
lighted,  but  the  door  was  open,  and  I 
climbed  upstairs  in  the  darkness.  One 
small  lamp  in  the  white  room  showed 
Lalun  and  her  maid  leaning  half  out  of  the 
window,  breathing  heavily  and  evidently 
pulling  at  something  that  refused  to  come. 

"  Thou  art  late  —  very  late,"  gasped 
Lalun  without  turning  her  head.  "  Help 
us  now,  oh,  fool,  if  thou  hast  not  spent  thy 
strength  howling  among  the  tamas.  Pull! 
Nasiban  and  I  can  do  no  more!  Oh, 
sahib,  is  it  you?  The  Hindoos  have  been 
hunting  an  old  Mohammedan  round  the 
ditch  with  clubs.  If  they  find  him  again 
they  will  kill  him.  Help  us  to  pull  him 
up." 

I  laid  m-y hands  to  the  long  red  silk  waist- 


On  the  City  Wall         153 

cloth  that  was  hanging  out  of  the  win- 
dow, and  we  three  pulled  and  pulled 
with  all  the  strength  at  our  command. 
There  was  something  very  heavy  at  the 
end,  and  it  was  swearing  in  an  unknown 
tongue  as  it  kicked  against  the  city  wall. 

''  Pull,  oh,  pull!  "  said  Lalun  at  the  last. 
A  pair  of  brown  hands  grasped  the  win- 
dow-sill and  a  venerable  Mohammedan 
tumbled  upon  the  floor,  very  much  out  of 
breath.  His  jaws  were  tied  up,  and  his 
turban  had  fallen  over  one  eye.  He  was 
dusty  and  angry. 

Lalun  hid  her  face  in  her  hands  for  an 
instant  and  said  something  about  Wali  Dad 
that  I  could  not  catch. 

Then,  to  my  extreme  gratification,  she 
thre^v  her  arms  round  my  neck  and  mur- 
mured pretty  things.  I  w^as  in  no  haste  to 
stop  her;  and  Nasiban,  being  a  hand- 
maiden of  tact,  turned  to  the  big  jewel- 
chest  that  stands  in  the  corner  of  the  white 
room  and  rummaged  among  the  contents. 
The  Mohammedan  sat  on  the  floor  and 
glared. 

"  One  service  more,  sahib,  since  thou 
hast  come  so  opportunely,''  said  Lalun. 
''  Wilt  thou  " —  it  is  very  nice  to  be  thou-ed 
by  Lalun  — "  take  this  old  man  across  the 
city  —  the  troops  are  everywhere,  and  they 
might  hurt  him,  for  he  is  old  —  to  the 
Kumharsen  Gate?     There  I  think  he  may 


154      I^  Black  and  White 

find  a  carriage  to  take  him  to  his  house. 
He  is  a  friend  of  mine,  and  thou  art  — 
more  than  a  friend  .  .  .  therefore  I 
ask  this." 

Nasiban  bent  over  the  old  man,  tucked 
something  into  his  belt,  and  I  raised  him 
up,  and  led  him  into  the  streets.  In  cross- 
ing from  the  east  to  the  west  of  the  city 
there  was  no  chance  of  avoiding  the  troops 
and  the  crowds.  Long  before  I  reached 
the  gully  of  horsemen  I  heard  the  shouts 
of  the  British  infantry  crying  cheerily: 
"  Hutt,  ye  beggars!  Hutt,  ye  devils!  Get 
along!  Go  forward,  there!"  Then  fol- 
lowed the  ringing  of  rifle-butts  and  shrieks 
of  pain.  The  troops  were  banging  at  the 
bare  toes  of  the  mob  with  their  butts  —  not 
a  bayonet  had  been  fixed.  My  companion 
mumbled  and  jabbered  as  we  walked  on  un- 
til we  were  carried  back  by  the  crowd  and 
had  to  force  our  way  to  the  troops.  I  caught 
him  by  the  wrist  and  felt  a  bangle  thereon  — 
the  iron  bangle  of  the  Sikhs  —  but  I  had  no 
suspicions,  for  Lalun  had  only  ten  minutes 
before  put  her  arms  around  me.  Thrice 
we  were  carried  back  by  the  crowd,  and 
when  we  won  our  way  past  the  British 
infantry  it  was  to  meet  the  Sikh  cavalry 
driving  another  mob  before  them  with  the 
butts  of  their  lances. 

"What  are  these  dogs?"  said  the  old 
man. 


On  the  City  Wall         155 

"  Sikhs  of  the  cavalry,  father,"  I  said, 
and  we  edged  our  way  up  the  line  of  horses 
two  abreast  and  found  the  deputy  com- 
missioner, his  helmet  smashed  on  his  head, 
surrounded  by  a  knot  of  men  who  had 
come  down  from  the  club  as  amateur  con- 
stables and  had  helped  the  police  mightily. 

"  We'll  keep  'em  on  the  run  till  dawn,'' 
said  Petitt.  "  Who's  your  villainous 
friend?" 

I  had  only  time  to  say,  "  The  protection 
of  the  Sirkar!  "  when  a  fresh  crowd  flying 
before  the  native  infantry  carried  us  a  hun- 
dred yards  nearer  to  the  Kumharsen  Gate, 
and  Petitt  was  swept  away  like  a  shadow. 

"  I  do  not  know  —  I  can  not  see  —  it  is 
all  new  to  me!"  moaned  my  companion. 
"  How  many  troops  are  there  in  the  city?  " 

"  Perhaps  five  hundred,"  I  said. 

"  A  lakh  of  men  beaten  by  five  hundred 
—  and  Sikhs  among  them !  Surely,  surely, 
I  am  an  old  man,  but  —  the  Kumharsen 
Gate  is  new.  Who  pulled  down  the  stone 
lions?  Where  is  the  conduit?  Sahib,  I 
am  a  very  old  man,  and,  alas,  I  —  I  can 
not  stand."  He  dropped  in  the  shadow  of 
the  Kumharsen  Gate  where  there  was  no 
disturbance.  A  fat  gentleman  wearing 
gold  pince-nez  came  out  of  the  darkness. 

"  You  are  most  kind  to  bring  my  old 
friend,"  he  said,  suavely.  "  He  is  a  land- 
holder of  Akala.     He  should  not  be  in  a 


156       In  Black  and  White 

big  city  when  there  is  reHgious  excitement. 
But  I  have  a  carriage  here.  You  are  quite 
truly  kind.  Will  you  help  me  to  put  him 
into  the  carriage?     It  is  very  late." 

We  bundled  the  old  man  into  a  hired 
victoria  that  stood  close  to  the  gate,  and 
I  turned  back  to  the  house  on  the  city  wall. 
The  troops  were  driving  the  people  to  and 
fro,  while  the  police  shouted,  '*  To  your 
houses!  Get  to  your  houses!"  and  the 
dog-whip  of  the  assistant  district  superin- 
tendent cracked  remorselessly.  Terror- 
stricken  buniiias  clung  to  the  stirrups  of  the 
cavalry,  crying  that  their  houses  had  been 
robbed  (which  was  a  lie),  and  the  burly 
Sikh  horsemen  patted  them  on  the  shoul- 
der and  bade  them  return  to  those  houses 
lest  a  worse  thing  should  happen.  Par- 
ties of  five  or  six  British  soldiers,  joining 
arms,  swept  down  the  side-gullies,  their 
rifles  on  their  backs,  stamping,  with  shout- 
ing and  song,  upon  the  toes  of  Hindoo  and 
Mussulman.  Never  was  religious  enthu- 
siasm more  systematically  squashed;  and 
never  were  poor  breakers  of  the  peace  more 
utterly  weary  and  foot-sore.  They  were 
j*outed  out  of  holes  and  corners,  from  be- 
hind well-pillars  and  byres,  and  bidden  to 
go  to  their  houses.  If  they  had  no  houses 
to  go  to,  so  much  the  worse  for  their  toes. 

On  returning  to  Lalun's  door  I  stumbled 
over  a  man  at  the  threshold.     He  was  sob- 


On  the  City  Wall  157 

bing  hysterically  and  his  arms  flapped  like 
the  wings  of  a  goose.  It  was  Wali  Dad, 
agnostic  and  unbeliever,  shoeless,  turban- 
less,  and  frothing  at  the  mouth,  the  flesh 
on  his  chest  bruised  and  bleeding  from  the 
vehemence  with  which  he  had  smitten  him- 
self. A  broken  torch-handle  lay  by  his 
side,  and  his  quivering  lips  murmured, 
''  Ya  Hasan!  Ya  Hussain!"  as  I  stooped 
over  him.  I  pushed  him  a  few  steps  up 
the  staircase,  threw  a  pebble  at  Lalun's 
city  window,  and  hurried  home. 

Most  of  the  streets  were  very  still,  and 
the  cold  wind  that  comes  before  the  dawn 
whistled  down  them.  In  the  center  of  the 
square  of  the  mosque  a  man  was  bending 
over  a  corpse.  The  skull  had  been 
smashed  in  by  gun  butt  or  bamboo  stave. 

"  It  is  expedient  that  one  man  should  die 
for  the  people,"  said  Petitt,  grimly,  raising 
the  shapeless  head.  "  These  brutes  were 
beginning  to  show  their  teeth  too  much." 

And  from  afar  we  could  hear  the  soldiers 
singing: 

''  Two  Lovely  Black  Eyes,"  as  they 
drove  the  remnant  of  the  rioters  within 
doors. 


Of  course  you  can  guess  what  hap- 
pened? I  was  not  so  clever.  When  the 
news  went  abroad  that  Khem  Singh  had 


158       In  Black  and  White 

escaped  from  the  fort,  I  did  not,  since  I 
was  then  hving  the  story,  not  writing  it, 
connect  myself,  or  Lalun,  or  the  fat  gentle- 
man of  the  gold  pincc-ncz,  with  his  disap- 
pearance. Nor  did  it  strike  me  that  Wali 
Dad  was  the  man  who  should  have  steered 
him  across  the  city,  or  that  Lalun's  arms 
round  my  neck  were  put  there  to  hide  the 
money  that  Nasiban  gave  to  him,  and  that 
Lalun  had  used  me  and  my  white  face  as 
even  a  better  safeguard  than  Wali  Dad, 
who  proved  himself  so  untrustworthy.  All 
that  I  knew  at  that  time  was  that,  when 
Fort  Amara  was  taken  up  with  the  riots, 
Khem  Singh  profited  by  the  confusion  to 
get  away,  and  that  his  two  Sikh  guards 
also  escaped. 

But  later  on  I  received  full  enlighten- 
ment; and  so  did  Khem  Singh.  He  fled 
to  those  who  knew  him  in  the  old  days, 
but  many  of  them  were  dead  and  more  were 
changed,  and  all  knew  something  of  the 
wrath  of  the  government.  He  went  to  the 
young  men,  but  the  glamour  of  his  name 
had  passed  away,  and  they  were  entering 
native  regiments  or  government  ofifices, 
and  Khem  Singh  could  give  them  neither 
pension,  decorations,  nor  influence  — 
nothing  but  a  glorious  death  with  their 
backs  to  the  mouth  of  a  gun.  He  wrote 
letters  and  made  promises,  and  the  letters 
fell  into  bad  hands,  and  a  wholly  insignifi- 


On  the  City  Wall         159 

cant  subordinate  officer  of  police  tracked 
them  down  and  gained  promotion  thereby. 
Moreover,  Khem  Singh  was  old,  and  anise- 
seed  brandy  was  scarce,  and  he  had  left  his 
silver  cooking-pots  in  Fort  Amara  with  his 
nice  warm  bedding,  and  the  gentleman 
with  the  gold  pince-nez  was  told  by  those 
who  had  employed  him  that  Khem  Singh 
as  a  popular  leader  was  not  worth  the 
money  paid. 

''  Great  is  the  mercy  of  these  fools  of 
English,"  said  Khem  Singh  when  the  situ- 
ation was  explained.  "  I  will  go  back  to 
Fort  Amara  of  my  own  free  will  and  gain 
honor.  Give  me  good  clothes  to  return 
in." 

So,  upon  a  day,  Khem  Singh  knocked  at 
the  wicket  gate  of  the  fort  and  walked  to 
the  captain  and  the  subaltern  who  were 
nearly  gray-headed  on  account  of  corre- 
spondence that  daily  arrived  from  Simla 
marked  "  Private." 

"  I  have  come  back.  Captain  Sahib," 
said  Khem  Singh.  ''  Put  no  more  guards 
over  me.     It  is  no  good  out  yonder." 

A  week  later  I  saw  him  for  the  first 
time  to  my  knowledge,  and  he  made  as 
though  there  were  an  understanding 
between  us. 

"  It  was  well  done,  sahib,"  said  he,  '*  and 
greatly  I  admire  your  astuteness  in  thus 
boldly  facing  the  troops   when   I,  whom 


i6o       In  Black  and  White 

they  would  have  doubtless  torn  to  pieces, 
was  with  you.  Now  there  is  a  man  in  Fort 
Ooltagarh  whom  a  bold  man  could  with 
ease  help  to  escape.  This  is  the  position  of 
the  fort  as  I  draw  it  on  the  sand  .  .  ." 
But  I  was  thinking  how  I  had  become 
Lalun's  vizier  after  all. 


THE    END. 


.1^.9,?.9.^™ERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY 


B     000  011  169     0 


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